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BALLADS 



BY 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

V 



COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED EDITION^ 




BOSTON 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
1882 ^-^IXX 



0' 






Copyright, 1855, 
By Ticknor and Fields. 

Copyright, ISSl, 
By James R. Osgood and Co. 



/:i'3fj6/ 



These Balhids* have been written during the past 
fifteen years, and are now gathered l)y the author 
from his own books, and the various periodicals in 
which the pieces appeared originally. They are 
published simultaneously in England and America, 
— where a public, which has been interested in the 
writer's prose stories, he hopes may be kindly dis- 
posed to his little volume of verses. 

\V. M. T. 

Boston, 27th October, 1855. 



* Many other pieces are now added to the original collection made 
by the author in 1855, making it more complete than any other edition 
either American or Foreign. 

Boston, 1882. 



COJS^TEIS^TS. 



BALLADS: 

PAGE 

The Chronicle of the Drum, 1 

The King of Brentford's Testament, 28 

TsE White Sqvall. (Journeij from ConihiH to Cairo), ... 40 

Feo OF LiiiAWDDY (The Irish Sketch-Book), 47 

May Day Ode, 56 

The Ballad of Bouillabaisse, 63 

The Mahogany Tree 67 

The Yankee Volunteers, 70 

The Pen and the Album, 74 

Lucy's Birthday, 79 

The Cane-Bottomed Chair, . . , 81 

PiSCATOR AND PiSCATRIX 85 

RoNSARD to his Mistress, 89 

At the Church Gate {Pendennis) , . . 91 

The Age of Wisdom [Rebecca and Roicena), 94 

Sorrows of Werther, 97 

The Last of May -99 

Abd-el-Kader at Toulon, or The Caged Hawk 101 

The Funeral Procession of Xapoleon, 106 

Mrs. Katherine's Lantern .... 115 

"Ah, Bleak and Barren was the Moor" {Vanity Fair), . 119 
The Rose upon My Balcony {Vanity Fair), .-..•. 121 
A Doe in the City, 122 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

FkiKY DxYS {The Fitz-Boodk Papers) 125 

Song of the Violet {The Adventures of P/tilip), 128 

Pocahontas {The Virginians), 130 

From Pocahontas ( r^e Virginians), 132 

The Legend of St. Sophia of Kioff, 134 

Titmarsh's Carmen Lilliense, 172 

Jeames of Buckley Square — a Heligt {Diary of C. Jmmes 

de la Pliiche), 179 

Lines upon My Sister's Portrait {Diary of C. Jeames de la 

Pluche), 183 

Little Billee 185 

The Idler, 189 

Vanitas Vanitatum, 193 

Love Songs Made Easy: 

What Makes My Heart to Thrill and Glow ? 197 

The Ghazul, or Oriental Love Song : 

Come to the Greenwood Tree 201 

My Nora, 202 

To ^laxy {Book of Snobs), 204 

Sevena.dc {The Paris Sketch- Book), . • . . 207 

The Rocks, 209 

The Merry Bard, . 210 

The Caique, 211 

The Minaret Bells, 214 

Five German Ditties : 

A tragic Story, . 215 

The Chaplet, 217 

The King on the Tower, 220 

To a Very Old Woman, 222 

A Cvcdo {The Adveiitiires of Philip) 225 

Four Imitations of Beranger: 

Le Roi D'Yvetot, 227 

The King of Yvetot, 230 

The King of Brentford, 233 



CONTENTS. vn 

PAGE 

Le Grenicr, 236 

The Garret, 238 

Roger Boutemps, 241 

Jolly Jack .244 

Imitation of Horace : 

To His Serving Boy, 248 

Ad Ministram, 250 

Old Friends with New Faces : 

The Knightly Guerdon, 251 

The Almack's Adieu .... 253 

When the Gloom is on the Glen {Sketches and Travels in 

London), 255 

The Red Flag ( Sketches and Travels in London) , .... 257 

Commanders oi iha Ya.\i\\i\.\\ {Rebecca and Rowena), . . . 259 
Dear Jack {\ovels by E?nine7it Hands), ....... 260 

When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas {Diary of C. Jeames 

de la riuche), 2G2 

King Canute {Rebecca and Roioena), 264 

Yviav'i Bong {The Paris Sketch Book), 272 

Aira-Cnxa. {Rebeeca and Roicena), 273 

Requiescat {Rebecca and Rowena), 275 

T\\c\\\\\o\\-TYe(i {The Fitz-Boodle Papers), 277 

The Willow-Tree, another version, {The Fitz-Boodle Papers). 281 

Lyra Hibernica: 

The Pimlico Pavilion, 284 

The Crystal Palace, 288 

Molony's Lament, 295 

Mr. Molony's Account of the Ball given to the Ncpaulesc 

Ambassador by the Peninsular and Oriental Company, 299 

The Battle of Limerick 303 

The Last Irish Grievance, 309 

'Lairy O'Toolc {Novels by Etninent Hands) 312 

The Rose of Flora {Memoirs of Barry Lyndon, Esq.), . . . 314 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Ballads of Policeman X. : 

The Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Maiy Brown, . . 316 

The Three Christmas Waits 319 

Lines on a Late Hospicious Ewent, 327 

The Ballad of Eliza Davis . . , . • 333 

Damages, Two Hundred Pounds, 340 

The Knight and The Lady, 345 

Jacob Homnium's Hoss, 350 

The Speculators, 357 

The Lamentable Ballad of the Foundling of Shore- 
ditch, 360 

The Organ Boy's Appeal, 367 

The End of the Play, {Dr. Birch and His Young Friends.) . 370 



BALLADS. 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 



PART I. 

At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers, 

Whoever will choose to repair, 
'Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warnoi*. 

May haply fall in with old Pierre. 
On the sunshiny bench of a tavern. 

He sits and he prates of old wars, 
And moistens his pipe of tobacco 

With a drink that is named after Mars. 

(1) 



THE CHRONICLF OF THE DRUM. 

The beer makes his tongue run the quicksr, 

And as long as his tap never fails, 
Thus over his favorite liquor 

Old Peter will tell his old tales. 
Says he, " In my life's ninety summers, 

Strange changes and chances I've seen, — 
So here's to all gentlemen drummers 

That ever have thumped on a skin. 

*' Brought up in the art military 

For four generations we are ; 
My ancestors drummed for King Harry, 

The Huguenot lad of Navarre. 
Ana as each man in life has his station. 

According as Fortune may fix. 
While Conde was waving the baton. 

My grandsire was trolling the sticks. 

" Ah ! those were the days for commanders 

What glories my grandfather won, 
Kre bigots, and lackeys, and panders. 

The fortunes of France had undone ! 
In Germany, Flanders, and Holland, — 

What foeman resisted us then ? 
No ; my grandsire was ever victorious, 

Mv crrandsire and Monsieur Turenne. 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DKUM. 

" He died, and our noble battalions 

The jade, fickle Fortune, forsook ; 
And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance. 

The victory lay with Malbrook. 
The news it was brought to King Louis; 

Corbleu ! how his majesty swore, 
"When he heard they had taken my grandsire. 

And twelve thousand gentlemen more ! 

" At Namurs, Ramillies, and Malplaquet 

Were we posted, on plain or in trench ; 
Malbrook only need to attack it. 

And away from him scampered we French. 
Cheer up ! 'tis no use to be glum, boys, — 

'Tis written, since fighting begun. 
That sometimes we fight and we conquer, 

And sometimes we fight and we run. 

" To fight and to run was our fate ; 

Our fortune and fame had departed ; 
And so perished Louis the Great, — 

Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted. 
His coffin they pelted with mud. 

His body they tried to lay hands on ; 
And so having buried King Louis 

They loyally served his great-grandson. 



THE CHllONICLE OF THE DRXTM. 

♦* God save the beloved King Louis ! 

(For so he was nicknamed by some,) 
And now came my father to do his 

King's orders, and beat on the drum. 
My grandsire was dead, but his bones 

Must have shaken, I'm certain, for joy, 
To hear Daddy drumming the English 

From the meadows of famed Fontenoy. 

*' So well did he drum in that battle. 

That the enemy showed us their backs ; 
Corbleu ! it was pleasant to rattle 

The sticks, and to follow old Sase ! 
We next had Soubise as a leader, 

And as luck hath its changes and fits, 
At Rossbach, in spite of Dad's drumming, 

'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz. 

*' And now Daddy crossed the Atlantic, 

To drum for Montcalm and his men ; 
Morbleu ! but it makes a man frantic, 

To think we were beaten again ! 
My daddy he crossed the wide ocean. 

My mother brought me on her neck. 
And we came in the year fifty-seven 

To guard the good town of Quebcvv 



THE CHROXICLE OF THE DRUM. 

** In the year fifty-nine came the Biitons, — 

Full well I remember the day, — 
They knocked at our gates for admittance, 

Their vessels were moored in our bay. 
Says our general, " Drive me yon red-coats 

Away to the sea, whence they come ! " 
So we marched against Wolfe and his bull-dogs, 

We marched at the sound of the drum. 

" I think I can see my poor mammy 

With me in her hand as she waits, 
And our regiment, slowly retreating. 

Pours back through the citadel gates. 
Dear mammy, she looks in their faces, 

And asks if her husband is come. 
— He is lying all cold on the glacis, 

And will never more beat on the drum. 

*' Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys ; 

He died like a soldier — in glory ; 
Here's a glass to the health of all drum boys. 

And now I'll commence my own story. 
Once more did we cross the salt ocean ; 

We came in the year eighty-one ; 
And the wrongs of my father the drummer 

Were avenged by the drummer his son. 
1^' 



THE CHROXICLE OF THE DRUM. 

" In Chesapeake Bay we were landed ; 

In vain strove the British to pass ; 
Rochambeau our armies commanded, 

Our ships they were led by De Grasse. 
Morbleu ! how I rattled the drumsticks, 

The day we marched into Yorktown ! 
Ten thousand of beef-eating British 

Their weapons we caused to lay down. 

" Then homewards returning victorious, 

In peace to our country we came. 
And were thanked for our glorious actions 

By Louis Sixteenth of the name. 
What drummer on earth could be prouder 

Than I, while I drummed at Versailles 
To the lovely court ladies in powder. 

And lappets, and long satin tails ? 

" The princes that day passed before us, 

Our countrymen's glory and hope ; 
Monsieur, who was learned in Horace, 

D'Artois, who could dance the tight rope, 
One night we kept guard for the queen. 

At her majesty's opera box, 
While the king, that majestical monarch, 

Sat filinj? at home at his locks. 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 

" Yes, I drummed for the fair Antoinette ; 

And so smiling she looked, and so tender, 
That our officers, privates, and drummers, 

All vowed they would die to defend her. 
But she cared not for us honest fellows. 

Who fought and who bled in her wars ; 
She sneered at our gallant Rochambeau, 

And turned Lafayette out of doors. 

*' Ventrebleu ! then I swore a great oath 

No more to such tyrants to kneel ; 
And so just to keep up my drumming, 

One day I drummed down the Bastile ! 
Ho, landlord ! a stoup of fresh wine ; 

Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try, 
And drink to the year eighty-nine. 

And the glorious fourth of July ! 

" Then bravely our cannon it thundered. 

As onwards our patriots bore ; 
Our enemies were but a hundred. 

And we twenty thousand or more. 
They carried the news to King Louis. 

He heard it as calm as you please ; 
And like a majestical monarch, 

Kept filing his locks and his keys. 



THE CHKOXICLE OF THE DRUM. 

** We showed our republican courage, 

We stormed and we broke the great gate in. 
And we murdered the insolent j^overnor 

For daring to keep us a waiting. 
Lambesc and his squadrons stood by ; 

They never stirred finger or thumb ; 
The saucy aristocrats trembled 

As they heard the republican drum. 

" Hurrah ! what a storm was a brewing ! 

The day of our vengeance was come ; 
Through scenes of what carnage and ruin 

Did I beat on the patriot drum ! 
Let's drink to the famed tenth of August; 

At midnight I beat the tattoo, 
And woke up the pikemen of Paris, 

To follow the bold Barbaroux. 

" With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches. 

Marched onwards our dusty battalions ; 
And we girt the tall castle of Louis, 

A million of tatterdemalions ! 
We stormed the fair gardens where towered 

The walls of his heritage splendid ; 
Ah, shame on him, craven and coward. 

That had not the heart to defend it ! 



10 THE CHKOXICLE OF THE DRUM. 

" With the crown of his sires on his head, 

His nobles and knights by his side, 
At the foot of his ancestors' palace 

'Twere easy, me thinks, to have died. 
But no ; when we burst through his barriers, 

'Mid heaps of the dying and dead, 
In vain through the chambers we sought him, -— 

He had turned like a craven and fled. 

rSf * * 

" You all know the Place de la Concorde ? 

'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall ; 
'Mid terraces, fountains, and statues, 

There rises an obelisk tall. 
There rises an obelisk tall ; 

All garnished and gilded the base is ; 
'Tis surely the gayest of all 

Our beautiful city's gay places. 

" Around it are gardens and flowers, 

And the cities of France on their thrones. 
Each crowned with his circlet of flowers. 

Sits watching this biggest of stones ! 
I love to go sit in the sun there, 

The flowers and fountains to see. 
And to think of the deeds that were done there 

In the glorious year ninety-three. 



THE CHRO.VICLE OF THE DRUM. 11 

" 'Twas here stood the altar of freedom, 

And though neither marble nor gilding 
Were used in those days to adorn 

Our simple republican building, 
Corbleu ! but the mere guillotixe 

Caz'ed little for splendor or show. 
So you gave her an axe and a beam. 

And a plank and a basket or so. 

" Awful, and proud, and erect 

Here sate our republican goddess ; 
Each morning her table wc decked 

"With dainty aristocrats' bodies. 
The people each day flocked around. 

As she sat at her meat and her wine ; 
'Twas always the use of our nation 

To ^vitness the sovereign dine. 

" Young virgins with fair golden tresses. 

Old silver-haired prelates and priests, 
Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses. 

Were splendidly served at her feasts. 
Ventrebleu ! but we pampered our ogress 

With the best that our nation could bring, 
And dainty she grew in her progress. 

And called for the head of a kins ! 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 

*' She called for the blood of oiir king, 

And straight from his prison ^ve drew him ; 
And to her wdth shouting we led him, 

And took him, and bound him, and slew him. 
' The monarchs of Europe against me 

Have plotted a godless alliance ; 
I'll fling them the head of King Louis,' 

She said, ' as my gage of defiance.' 

" I see him as now, for a moment, 

Away from his jailers he broke. 
And stood at the foot of the scaffold, 

And lingered, and fain would have spoke. 
' Ho, drummer ! quick ! silence yon Capet,* 

Says Santerre, ' with a beat of your drum ; * 
Lustily then did I tap it, 

And the son of St. Louis was dumb." 



THE CHEOXICLE OF THE DRUM. 1.'^ 



PART II. 

•* The glorious days of September 

Saw many aristocrats fall ; 
'Tvas then that our pikes drunk the Wood, 

In rhe beautiful breast of Lamballe. 
Pardi, 'twas a beautiful lady ! 

I seldom have looked on her like ; 
And I drummed for a gallant procession, 

That marched with her head on a pike. 

" Let's show the pale head to the queen, 

We said — she'll remember it well ; 
She looked from the bars of her prison. 

And shrieked as she saw it, and fell. 
We set up a shout at her screaming. 

We laughed at the fright she had shown 
At the sight of the head of her minion ; 

How she'd tremble to part with her own ! 



14 THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 

" We liad taken the head of King Capet, 

We called for the blood of his wife ; 
Undaunted she came to the scaffold, 

And bared her fair neck to the knife. 
As she felt the foul fingers that touched her. 

She shrunk, but she deigned not to speak, 
She looked with a royal disdain, 

And died wdth a blush on her cheek ! 

" 'Twas thus that our country was saved ; 

So told us the safety committee ! 
But psha ! Tve the heart of a soldier. 

All gentleness, mercy, and pity. 
I loathed to assist at such deeds. 

And my drum beat its loudest of tunes 
As we offered to justice offended 

The blood of the bloody tribunes. 

'• Away with such foul recollections ! 

No more of the axe and the block ; 
I saw the last fight of the sections. 

As they fell 'neath our guns at Saint Rock. 
Young Bonaparte led us that day ; 

When he sought the Italian frontier, 
I followed my gallant young captain, 



' (^ '^-N, 



1:71 li' 




16 THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 

" We came to an army in rags, 

Oui" general was but a boy, 
When Ave first saw the Austrian flags 

Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy. 
In the glorious year ninety-six, 

We marched to the banks of the Po ; 
I carried my drum and my sticks. 

And we laid the proud Austrian low. 

' In triumph we entered Milan, 

We seized on the Mantuan keys ; 
The troops of the Emperor ran. 

And the Pope he fell down on his knees. "- 
Pierre's comrades here called a fresh bottle. 

And clubbing together their wealth, 
They drank to the Army of Italy, 

And General Bonaparte's health. 

The drummer now bared his old breast, 

And showed us a plenty of scars, 
Rude presents that fortune had made him. 

In fifty victorious wars. 
" This came when I followed bold Kleber — 

'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun ; 
And chis from an Austrian sabre. 

When the field of Marengo was won. 



THE CHROXICLE OF THE DRUM. l7 

*' My forehead has many deep furrows. 

But this is the deepest of all ; 
A Brunswicker made it at Jena, 

Beside the fair river of Saal. 
This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it ; 

(God bless him !) it covers a blow ; 
I had it at Austerlitz fight. 

As I beat on my drum in the snow. 

" 'Twas thus that we conquered and fought ; 

But wherefore continue the story ? 
There's never a baby in France 

But has heard of our chief and our glory, ^ 
But has heard of our chief and our fame. 

His sorrows and triumphs can tell, 
How bravely Napoleon conquered, 

How bravely and sadly he fell. 

" It makes my old heart to beat higher. 

To think of the deeds that I saw ; 
I followed bold Ney through the fire. 

And charged at the side of Murat." 
And so did old Peter continue 

His story of twenty brave years ; 
His audience followed with comments — 

Rude comments of curses and tears. 



IS THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 

He told how the Prussians in vain 

Had died in defence of their land ; 
His audience laughed at the story, 

And vowed that their captain was grand ! 
He had fought the red English, he said. 

In many a battle of Spain ; 
They cursed the red English, and prayed 

To meet them and fight them again. 

He told them how Russia was lost. 

Had winter not driven them back ; 
And his company cursed the quick frost, 

And doubly they cursed the Cossack. 
He told how the stranger arrived ; 

They wept at the tale of disgrace ; 
And they longed but for one battle more, 

The stain of their shame to efface ! 

" Our country their hordes overrun. 

We fled to the fields of Champagne, 
And fought them, though twenty to one, 

And beat them again and again ! 
Our warrior was conquered at last ; 

They bade him his crown to resign ; 
To fate and his country he yielded 

The rights of himself and his line. 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. I'J 

" He came, and among us he stood, 

Around him we pressed in a throng. 
We could not regard him for weeping. 

Who had led us and loved us so long. 
' I have led you for twenty long years,' 

Napoleon said ere he went ; 
' Wherever was honor I found you, 

And with you, my sons, am content. 

" ' Though Europe against me was armed. 
Your chiefs and my people are true ; 

I still might have struggled with fortune, 
And baffled all Europe with you. 

" ' But France would have suffered the while; 

'Tis best that I suffer alone ; 
I go to my place of exile, 

To write of the deeds we have done. 

" ' Be true to the king that they give you ; 

We may not embrace ere Ave part ; 
But, General, reach me your hand. 

And press me, I pray, to your heart.' 

" He called for our old battle standard ; 
One kiss to the eagle he gave. 



20 THE CHKONICLE OF THE DKUM. 

' Dear eagle ! ' he said, ' may this kiss 

Long sound in the hearts of the brave ! * 

'Twas thus that Napoleon left us ; 
Our people were weeping and mute, 

And he passed through the lines of his guard. 
And our drums beat the notes of salute. 



•• I looked when the drumming was o'er, 

I looked, but our hero was gone ; 
We were destined to see him once more, 

When we fought on the Mount of St. John. 
The Emperor rode through our files ; 

'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn ; 
The lines of our warriors for miles 

Stretched wide through the Waterloo corn. 

" In thousands we stood on the plain ; 

The red coats were crowning the height ; 
' Go scatter yon English,' he said ; 

' We'll sup, lads, at Brussels to-night.' 
We answered his voice with a shout ; 

Our eagles were bright in the sun ; 
Our drums and our cannon spoke out, 

And the thundering battle begun. 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 21 

" One charge to another succeeds, 

Like waves that a hurricane bears ; 
All day do our galloping steeds 

Dash fierce on the enemy's squares. 
At noon we began the fell onset ; 

We charged up the Englishman's hill ; 
And madly we charged it at sunset — 

His banners were floating there still. 

" — Go to ! I will tell you no more ; 

You know how the battle was lost. 
Ho ! fetch me a beaker of wine, 

And, comrades, I'll give you a toast. 
I'll give you a curse on all traitors, 

Who plotted our Emperor's ruin ; 
And a curse on those red-coated English, 

Whose bayonets helped our undoing. 

" A curse on those British assassins 

Who ordered the slaughter of Ney ; 
A curse on Sir Hudson, who tortured 

The life of our hero away. 
A curse on all Russians — I hate them — 

On all Prussian and Austrian fry ; 
And, O ! but I pray we may meet them. 

And fight them again ere I die." 



22 THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 



'Twas thus old Peter did conclude 
His chronicle with curses fit. 

He spoke the tale in accents rude. 
In ruder verse I copied it. 

Perhaps the tale a moral bears, 

(All tales in time to this must come,) 

The story of two hundred years 
Writ on the parchment of a drum. 

What Peter told with drum and stick, 
Is endless theme for poet's pen : 

Is found in endless quartos thick. 
Enormous books by learned men. 

And ever since historian writ. 

And ever since a bard could sing, 

Doth each exalt, with all his wit. 
The noble art of murdering. 



THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 23 

We love to read the glorious page, 

How bold Achilles killed his foe. 
And Turnus, felled by Trojans' rage, 

Went howling to the shades below. 

How Godfrey led his red-cross knights. 
How mad Orlando slashed and slew ; 

There's not a single bard that writes, 
But doth the glorious theme renew. 

And while in fashion picturesque, 

The poet rhymes of blood and blows. 

The grave historian, at his desk, 
Describes the same in classic prose. 

Go read the works of Reverend Cox ; 

You'll duly see recorded there 
The history of the self-same knocks 

Here roughly sung by Drummer Pierre. 

Of battles fierce and warriors big. 
He writes in phrases dull and slow, 

And waves his cauliflower wig. 

And shouts, " Saint George for Marlborow ! " 



24: THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 

Take Doctor Southey from the shelf, 
An LL. D., — a peaceful man ; 

Good Lord, how doth he plume himself. 
Because we beat the Corsican ! 

From first to last his page is filled 

With stirring tales how blows were struck. 

He shows how we the Frenchmen killed, 
And praises God for our good luck. 

Some hints, 'tis true, of politics 

The doctors give, and statesman's art ; 

Pierre only bangs his drum and sticks, 
And understands the bloody part. 

He cares not what the cause may be. 
He is not nice for wTong and right ; 

But show him where's the enemy, 
He only asks to drum and fight. 

They bid him fight, — perhaps he wins ; 

And when he tells the story o'er. 
The honest savage brags and grins. 

And only longs to fight once more 



THE CHROXICXE OF THE DRUM. 

But luck may change, and valor fail, 
Our drummer, Peter, meet reverse, 

And with a moral points his tale — 
The end of all such tales — a curse. 



Last year, my love, it was my hap 

Behind a grenadier to be, 
And, but he wore a hairy cap, 

No taller man, methinks, than me. 

Prince Albert and the Queen, God woU 
(Be blessings on the glorious pair !) 

Before us passed, I saw them not, 
I only saw a cap of hair. 

Your orthodox historian puts 

In foremost rank the soldier thus, 

The red-coat bully in his boots. 

That hides the march of men from us. 



26 THE CHKOXICLE OF THE DKUAI. 

He puts him there in foremost rank, 

You wonder at his cap of hair : 
You hear his sabre's cui-sed clank, 

His spurs are jingling every where. 

Go to ! I hate him and his trade : 
"Who bade us so to cringe and bend, 

And all God's peaceful people made 
To such as him subservient? 

Tell me what find we to admire 

In epaulets and scarlet coats, 
In men because they load and fire, 

And know the ai-t of cutting throats ? 
i^f A- ^' # # 

Ah, gentle, tender lady mine ! 

The \\-inter ^^ind blows cold and shrill. 
Come, fill me one more glass of wine. 

And give the silly fools their will. 

And what care we for war and \\Tack, 
How kings and heroes rise and fall ? 

Look yonder ; * in his coffin black, 
There lies the greatest of them all ! 

• This ballad was written at Paris, at the time of the second funeral 
of Napoleon. 



THE CHKOKICLE OF THE DEUM. *27 

To pluck him down, and keep him up, 

Died many million human souls ; 
'Tis twelve o'clock, and time to sup, 

Bid Mary heap the fire with coals. 

He captured many thousand guns ; 

He wrote " The Great " before his name ; 
And dying, only left his sons 

The recollection of his shame. 

Though more than half the world was Ixia, 

He died without a rood his own ; 
And borrowed from his enemies 

Six foot of ground to lie upon. 

He fought a thousand glorious wars, 
And more than half the world was his, 

And somewhere, now, in yonder stars. 
Can teil, mayhap, what greatness is. 



28 THE KING OF BRENTFORD's TESTAMENT. 



THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. 



The noble king of Brentford 

Was old and very sick ; - 
He summoned his phj^sicians 

To wait upon him quick ; 
They stepped into their coaches, 

And brought their best physick. 

They crammed their gracious master 

With potion and with pill 
They drenched him and they bled him : 

They could not cure his ill. 
" Go fetch," says he, " my lawyer ; 

I'd better make my will." 

•■26) 



THE KING OF BKEXTFOED S TESTAMENT. 

The monarch's royal mandate 

The lawyer did obey ; 
The thought of six-and-eightpence 

Did make his heart full gay. 
" What is't," says he, " your majesty 

"Would wish of me to-day ? " 

" The doctors have belabored me 

With potion and mth pill : 
My hours of life are counted, 

man of tape and quill ! 

Sit down and mend a pen or two, 

1 want to make my will. 

•' O'er all the land of Brentford 

I'm lord and eke of Kew : 
I've three per cents and five per cents ; 

]\Iy debts are but a few ; 
And to inherit after me 

I have but children two. 

" Prince Thomas is my eldest son, 

A sober prince is he ; 
And from the day we breeched him. 

Till now he's twenty-three, 
He never caused disquiet 

To his poor mamma or me. 



30 THE KING OF BRENTFORd's TESTAMENT. 

'• At school they never flogged him ; 

At college, though not fast, 
Yet his little go and great go 

He creditably passed, 
And made his year's allowance 

For eighteen months to last. 

" He never owed a shilling, 
Went never drunk to bed, 

He has not two ideas 
Within his honest head ; 

In all respects he differs 

From my second son. Prince Ned. 

" When Tom has half his income 

Laid by at the year's end, 
Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver 

That rightly he may spend. 
But sponges on a tradesman. 

Or borrows from a friend. 

" While Tom his legal studies 

Most soberly pursues. 
Poor Ned must pass his mornings 

A-dawdling with the Muse ; 
"While Tom frequents his banker, 

Young Ned frequents the Jews. 



TJli; KING OF BRENTFOIId's TESTAMENT. 31 

" Ned drives about in buggies, 

Tom sometimes takes a 'bus ; 
Ah, cruel fate, why made you 

My chUdren differ thus ? 
Why make of Tom a dullard. 

And Ned a genius ? " 

" You'll cut him with a shilling," 

Exclaimed the man of wits : 
" I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, 

" Sir Lawyer, as befits ; 
And portion both their fortunes 

Unto their several wits." 

" Your grace knows best," the lawyer said, 

" On your commands I wait." 
" Be silent, sir," says Brentford, 

" A plague upon your prate ! 
Come, take you pen and paper. 

And write as I dictate." 

The will, as Brentford spoke it, 
Was writ, and signed, and closed ; 

He bade the lawyer leave him, 

And turned him round, and dozed ; 

And next week in the churchyard 

The good old king reposed. 
3* 



32 THE KING OF BKENTFOKd's TESTAMENT. 

Tom, dressed in crape and hatband, 
Of mourners was the chief; 

In bitter self-upbraidings 

Poor Edward showed his grief; 

Tom hid his fat, white countenance 
In his pocket handkerchief. 

Ned's eyes were full of weeping, 

He faltered in his walk ; 
Tom never shed a tear. 

But onwards he did stalk, 
As pompous, black, and solemn. 

As any catafalque. 

And when the bones of Brentford — 
That gentle king ajid just — 

With bell, and book, and candle, 
Were duly laid in dust, 

"Now, gentlemen," says Thomas, 
" Let business be discussed. 

" When late our sire beloved 

Was taken deadly ill, 
Sir L-,wyer, you attended him, 

(I mean to tax your bill ;) 
And, as you signed and wrote it, 

I pr'ythee read the will." 



THE KING OF BREXTFORD S TESTAMEXT. 33 

The lawyer wiped his spectacles, 

And drew the parchment out ; 
And all the Brentford family 

Sat eager round about : 
Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, 

But Tom had ne'er a doubt. 

" My son, as I make ready 

To seek my last long home. 
Some cares I had for Neddy, 

But none for thee, my Tom : 
Sobriety and order 

You ne'er departed from. 

" Ned hath a brilliant genius, 

And thou a plodding brain ; 
On thee I think with pleasure, 

On him with doubt and pain." 
("You see, good Ned," says Thomas, 

" What he thought about us twain.") 

" Though small was your allowance. 

You saved a little store ; 
And those who save a little 

Shall get a plenty more." 
As the lawyer read this compliment, 

Tom's eyes were running o'er. 



34 THE KING OF BRENTFORD's TESTAMENT. 

" The tortoise and the hare, Tom, 
Set out, at each his pace ; 

The hare it was the fleeter, 
The tortoise won the race ; 

And since the world's beginning, 
This ever was the case. 

" Ned's genius, blithe and singing, 
Steps gayly o'er the ground ; 

As steadily you trudge it, 
He clears it with a bound ; 

But dullness has stout legs. Torn, 
And wind that's wondrous sound. 

" O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tons, 
You pass with plodding feet ; 

You heed not one nor t'other. 
But onwards go your beat. 

While genius stops to loiter 
With all that he may meet ; 

" And ever, as he wanders, 
Will have a pretext fine 

For sleeping in the morning, 
Or loitering to dine, 

Or dozing in the shade. 
Or basking in the shine. 



THE KING OF BRENTFORD S TESTAMENT. 35 

" Your little steady eyes, Tom, 

Though not so bright as those 
That restless round about him 

Your flashing genius throws. 
Are excellently suited 

To look before your nose. 

" Thank heaven, then, for the b'inkerii 

It placed before your eyes ; 
The stupidest are weakest. 

The witty are not wise ; 
O, bless your good stupidity. 

It is your dearest prize ! 

*' And though my lands are wide. 

And plenty is my gold, 
Still better gifts from Nature, 

My Thomas, do you hold — 
A brain that's thick and heavy, 

A heart that's dull and cold ; 

" Too dull to feel depression. 

Too hard to heed distress. 
Too cold to yield to passion, 

Or silly tenderness. 
March on — your road is open 

To wealth, Tom, and success. 



36 THE KING OF BRENTFORD S TESTAMENT. 

" Ned sinneth in extravagance, 

And you in greedy lust." 
(" I' faitli," says Ned, " our father 

Is less polite than just.") 
" In you, son Tom, I've confidence, 

Eut Ned I cannot trust. 

" Wherefore my lease and copyholds. 
My lands and tenements, 

My parks, my farms, and orchards. 
My houses and my rents. 

My Dutch stock, and my Spanish stock, 
My five and three per cents ; 

" I leave to you, my Thomas — " 
(" What, all ? " poor Edward said ; 

" Well, well, I should have spent them. 
And Tom's a prudent head.") 

" I leave to you, my Thomas, — 
To you, IN TRUST for Ned." 

The wrath and consternation 
What poet e'er could trace 

That at this fatal passage 

Came o'er Prince Tom his face ; 

The wonder of the company. 
And honest Ned's amaze ! 



THE KING OF BRENTFORD S TESTAMENT. 37 

" 'Tis surely some mistake," 

Good-naturedly cries Ned ; 
The lawyer answered gravely, 

" 'Tis even as I said ; 
'Twas thus his gracious majesty 

Ordained on his death bed. 

" See, here the will is witnessed, 

And here's his autograph." 
*' In truth, our father's writing," 

Says Edward, with a laugh ; 
*' But thou shalt not be loser, Tom, 

We'll share it half and half." 

" Alas ! my kind young gentlemai). 

This sharing cannot be ; 
'Tis written in the testament 

That Brentford spoke to me, 
• I do forbid Prince Ned to give 

Prince Tom a halfpenny. 

" ' He hath a store of money, 
But ne'er was known to lend it; 

He never helped his brother ; 
The poor he ne'er befriended; 



38 THE KING OF BRENTFOKd's IESIAMENX. 

He hath no need of property 

Who knows not how to spend it. 

" ' Poor Edward knows but how to spend, 

And thrifty Tom to hoard ; 
Let Thomas be the steward then, 

And Edward be the lord ; 
And as the honest laborer 

Is worthy his reward, 

" ' I pray Prince Ned, my second son. 

And my successor dear, 
To pay to his intendant 

Five hundred pounds a year ; 
And to think of his old father, 

And live and make good cheer.' " 

Such was old Brentford's honest testament ; 

He did devise his moneys for the best, 

And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. 
Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent ; 

But his good sire was wrong, it is confessed, 
To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. 

He did. Young Thomas lent at interest. 
And nobly took his twenty-five per cent. 



THE KixG OP Brentford's testament. 39 

Long time the famous reign of Ned endured, 

O'er Chis^vack, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew ; 

But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. 

And when both died, as mortal men will do, 

'Twas commonly reported that the steward 
Was very much the richer of the two. 



40 THE WHITE SQUALL, 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 



On deck, beneath the a^vlung, 
I dozing lay and yawning ; 
It is the gray of dawning. 

Ere yet the sun arose ; 
And above the funnel's roaring. 
And the fitful wind's deploring, 
I heard the cabin snoring 

With universal nose. 
I could hear the passengers snorting - 
I envied their disporting — 
Vainly I was courting 

The pleasure of a doze ! 

So I lay, and wondered why light 
Came not, and watched the twilight, 
And the glimmer of the skylight, 
That shot across the deck ; 



J UE WHI'Iii SQUALL. 41 

And the binnacle pale and steady, 
And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye. 
And the sparks in fiery eddy 

That whirled from the chimney neck. 
In our jovial floating prison 
There was sleep from fore to mizzen, 
And never a star had risen 

The hazy sky to speck. 
Strange company we harbored : 
We'd a hundred Jews to larboard, 
Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered — . 

Jews black, and bro^\^l, and gray. 

With terror it would seize ye, 
And make your souls uneasy. 
To see those Rabbis greasy. 

Who did nought but scratch and pray. 
Their dirty children puking — 
Their dirty saucepans cooking — 
Their dirty fingers hooking 

Their swarming fleas away. 

To starboard, Turks and Greeks were — 
Whiskered and brown their cheeks were — 
Enormous wide their breeks were — 
Their pipes did puff" away ; 



42 THE WHITB SQUALL. 

Each on his mat allotted 

In silence smoked and squatted, 

Whilst round their children trotted 

In pretty pleasant play. 
He can't but smile who traces 
The smiles on those bro^vn faces, 
And the pretty prattling graces 

Of those small heathens gay. 

And so the hours kept tolling — 
And through the ocean rolling 
Went the brave Ihcria bowling 
Before the break of day 

When A SQUALL, upon a sudden, 
Came o'er the waters scudding ; 
And the clouds began to gather, 
And the sea was lashed to lather. 
And the lowering thunder grumbled, 
And the lightning jumped and tumbled. 
And the ship, and all the ocean, 
Woke up in wild commotion. 
Then the wind set up a howling, 
And the poodle dog a yowling, 
And the cocks began a crowing. 
And the old cow raised a lowing. 
As she heard the tempest blo\\dng ; 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 43 

And fowls and geese did cackle, 
And the cordage and the tackle 
Began to shriek and crackle ; 
And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, 
And down the deck in runnels ; 
And the rushing water soaks all, 
From the seamen in the fo'ksal. 
To the stokers whose black faces 
Peer out of their bed-places ; 
And the captain he was bawling. 
And the sailors pulling, hauling, 
And the quarter-deck tarpauling 
Was shivered in the squalling ; 
And the passengers awaken. 
Most pitifully shaken ; 
And the steward jumps up, and hastens 
For the necessary basins. 

Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered, 
And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered. 
As the plunging waters met them. 
And splashed and overset them ; 
And they called in their emergence 
Upon countless saints and virgins ; 
And their marrowbones are bended. 
And they think the world is ended. 



44 THE WHITE SQUALL. 

And the Turkish women for'ard 
Were frightened and hchorrored ; 
And shrieking and bewildering. 
The mothers clutched their children ; 
The men sung " Allah ! Illah ! 
Mashallah Bismillah ! " 
As the warring waters doused them. 
And splashed them and soused them ; 
And they called upon the Prophet, 
And thought but little of it. 

Then all the fleas in Jewry 

Jumped up and bit like fury ; 

And the progeny of Jacob 

Did on the main- deck wake up, 

(I wot those greasy Rabbins 

Would never pay for cabins ;) 

And each man moaned and jabbered in 

His filthy Je\\-ish gabardine. 

In woe and lamentation. 

And howling consternation. 

And the splashing water drenches 

Their dirty brats and wenches ; 

And they crawl from bales and benches, 

In a hundred thousand stenches. 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 45 

This was the white squall famous. 

Which latterly o'ercame us, 

And which all will well remember 

On the 28 th September ; 

When a Prussian captain of Lancers 

(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) 

Came on the deck astonished. 

By that wild squall admonished. 
And wondering cried, " Potz tausend, 

Wie ist der Stiirm jetzt brausend ? " 

And looked at Captain Lewis, 

Who calmly stood and blew his 

Cigar in all the bustle. 

And scorned the tempest's tussle ; 

And oft we've thoMght hereafter 

How he beat the ■^'•orm to laughter ; 

For well he knew his vessel 

With that vain wind could wrestle ; 

And when a wreck we thought her, 

And doomed ourselves to slaughter. 

How gayly he fought her, 

And through the hubbub brought her, 

And as the tempest caught her, 

Cried, " George ! some beaxdy and 

WATEK ! " 



46 



THE WHITE SQUALL. 



And when, its force expended, 
The harmless storm was ended, 
And as the sunrise splendid 

Came blushing o'er the sea, — ■ 
I thought, as day was breaking. 
My little girls were waking. 
And smiling, and making 

A prayer at home for me. 




PKG OK MMAVADDY. 47 



PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 



Riding from Coleraine 

(Famed for lovely Kitty) 
Came a Cockney bound 

Unto Derry city ; 
Weary was his soul, 

Shivering and sad he 
Bumped along the road — 

Leads to Limavaddy. 

Mountains stretched around, 
Gloomy was their tinting. 

And the horse's hoofs 
Made a dismal dinting ; 

Wind upon the heath 

Howling was and piping. 



48 PEG OF LIMAVADPY. 

On the heath, and bog. 

Black with many a snipe in ; 
'Mid the bogs of black. 

Silver pools were flashing, 
Crows upon their sides 

Picking were and splashing. 
Cockney on the car 

Closer folds his plaidy, 
Grumbling at the road 

Leads to Limavaddy. 
Through the crashing woods 

Autumn brawled and blustered. 
Tossing round about 

Leaves the hue of mustard; 
Yonder lay Lough Foyle, 

Which a storm was whipping. 
Covering \yith. mist 

Lake, and shores, and shipping. 
Up and down the hill 

(Nothing could be bolder) 
Horse went Anth a raw. 

Bleeding on his shoulder. 
" "Where are horses changed ? " 

Said I to the laddy 
Driving on the box : 

" Sir, at Linaavaddy." 



PEG OP LIMAVADDY. 49 

Limavaddy inn's 

But a humble baithouse. 
Where you may procure 

Whiskey and potatoes ; 
Landlord at the door 

Gives a smiling welcome 
To the shivering wights 

Who to his hotel come. 
Landlady within 

Sits and knits a stocking, 
With a wary foot 

Baby's cradle rocking. 

To the chimney nook 

Having found admittance, 
There I watch a pup 

Plapng with two kittens ; 
(Playing round the fire, 

Which of blazing turf is, 
Roaring to the pot 

Which bubbles with the murj)hie.s ;) 
And the cradled babe 

Fond the mother nursed it. 
Singing it a song 

As she twists the worsted I 



50 PEG OF LIMAYADDY. 

Up and down the stair 

Two more young ones patter, 
(Twins were never seen 

Dirtier nor fatter ;) 
Both, have mottled legs, 

Both have snubby noses, 
Both have — here the host 

Kindly interposes : 
" Sure you must be froze 

With the sleet and hail, sir ; 
So will you have some punch, 

' Or will you have some ale, sir ? " 

Presently a maid 

Enters with the liquor, 
(Half a pint of ale 

Frothing in a beaker.) 
Gads ! I didn't know 

What my beating heart meant ; 
Hebe's self I thought 

Entered the apartment. 
As she came she smiled, 

And the £mile bewitching, 
On my word and honor, 

Lisrhted all the kitchen ! 



PEG OF LIMAVABDT. 51 

With a courtesy neat 

Greeting the new comer, 
Lovely, smiling Peg 

Offers me the rummer ; 
But my trembling hand 

Up the beaker tilted. 
And the glass of ale 

Every droj) I spilt it — 
Spilt it every drop 

(Dames who read my volumes. 
Pardon such a word) 

On my what-d'ye-call-ems ! 

Witnessing the sight 

Of that dire disaster, 
Out began to laugh 

Missis, maid, and master ; 
Such a merry peal, 

'Specially Miss Peg's was, 
(As the glass of ale 

Trickling down my legs was,) 
That the joyful sound 

Of that mingling laughter 
Echoed in my ears 

Many a long day after. 



52 PEG OF UMAVADDT. 

Sucli a silver peal ! 

lu the moadows listening. 
You who've heard the bells 

Ringing to a christening ; 
You who ever heard 

Cai'adori pretty. 
Smiling like an angel. 

Singing " Giovinctti ; " 
Fancy Peggy's laugh. 

Sweet, and clear, and cheerful. 
At my pantaloons 

"With half a pint of beer full ! 

When the laugh was done, 

Peg, the pretty hussy. 
Moved about the room 

Wonderfully busy ; 
Now she looks to see 

If the kettle keep hot ; 
Now she rubs the spoons. 

Now she cleans the tea-pot ; 
Now she sets the cups 

Trimly and secure ; 
Now she scours a pot, 

And so it was I drew her. 



54 PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 

Thus it was I drew her 

Scouring of a kettle, 
(Faith ! her blushing cheeks 

Reddened on the metal !) 
Ah ! but 'tis in vain 

That I try to sketch it ; 
The pot perhaps is like, 

But Peggy's face is wretched. 
No, the best of lead, 

And of Indian rubber, 
Never could depict 

That sweet kettle scrubber ! 

See her as she moves ! 

Scarce the ground she touches ; . 
Airy as a fay. 

Graceful as a duchess ; 
Bare her rounded arm. 

Bare her little leg is ; 
Vestris never showed 

Ankles like to Peggy's ; 
Braided is her hair. 

Soft her look and modest, 
Slim her little waist. 

Comfortably bodiced. 



PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 55 

This I do declare, 

Happy is the laddy 
Who the heart can share 

Of Peg of Limavaddy; 
Married if she were, 

Blest would be the daddy 
Of the children fair 

Of Peg of Limavaddy. 
Beauty is not rare 

In the land of Paddy ; 
Fair beyond compare 

Is Peg of Limavaddy. * 

Citizen or Squire, 

Tory, Whig, or Radi- 
cal would all desire 

Peg of Limavaddy. 
Had I Homer's fire. 

Or that of Serjeant Taddy, 
Meetly I'd admire 

Peg of Limavaddy. 
And till I expire. 

Or till I grow mad, I 
Will sing unto my lyre 

Peg of Limavaddy ! 



56 MAY I»AV ODK, 



MAY DAY ODE. 



But yesterday a naked sod, 

The dandies sneered from Rotten Row, 
And cantered o'er it to and fro ; 

And see, 'tis done ! 
As though 'twere by a wizard's rod 
A blazing arch of lucid glass 
Leaps like a fountain from the grass, 
To meet the sun ! 

A quiet green but few days since, 
With cattle browsing in the shade. 
And here are lines of bright arcade 
In order raised ! 
A palace, as for fairy Prince, 
A rare pavilion, such as man 
Saw never, since mankind began 

And built and glazed ! 



MAY DAY ODE. 57 

A peaceful place it was but now, 
And lo ! within its shining streets 
A multitude of nations meets ; 

A countless throng, 
I see beneath the crystal bow, 

And Gaul and German, Russ and Turk, 
Each with his native handiwork 

And busy tongue. 

I felt a thrill of love and awe 

To mark the different garb of each ; 
The changing tongue, the various speech 
Together blent. 
A thrill, methinks, like His who saw 
" All people dwelling upon earth 
Praising our God with solemn mirth 
And one consent." 

High sovereign, in your Royal state. 
Captains, and chiefs, and councillors. 
Before the lofty palace doors 

Are open set; 
Hush ! ere you pass the shining gate ; 
Hush ! ere the heaving curtain draws. 
And let the Royal pageant pause 
A moment yet. 



68 MAY DAY ODE. 

People and prince a silence keep ! 
Bow coronet and kingly crown, 
Helmet and plume, bow lowly down, 

The while the priest. 
Before the splendid portal step, 

(While still the wondrous banquet stays,) 
From Heaven supreme a blessing prays 
Upon the feast. 

Then onwards let the triumph march ; 
Then let the loud artillery roll. 
And trumpets ring, and joy-bells toll. 
And pass the gate. 
Pass underneath the shining arch, 

'Neath which the leafy elms are green ; 
Ascend unto your throne, O queen ! 

And take your state. 

Behold her in her Royal place ; 
A gentle lady ; and the hand 
That sways the sceptre of this land, 

How frail and weak ! 
Soft is the voice, and fair the face. 

She breathes amen to prayer and hjnnn ; 
No wonder that her eyes are dim. 

And pale her cheek. 



MAT DAT ODE. 59 

This moment round her emph'e's shores 
The winds of Austral winter sweep, 
And thousands lie in midnight sleep, 
At rest to-day. 
! awful is that crown of yours. 
Queen of innumerable realms, 
Sitting beneath the budding elms 

Of English May ! 

A wondrous sceptre 'tis to bear, 
Strange mystery of God which set 
Upon her brow yon coronet, — 

The foremost crown 
Of all the world on one so fair ! 
That chose her to it from her birth. 
And bade the sons of all the earth 

To her bow down. 

The representatives of man 
Here from the far Antipodes, 
And from the subject Indian seas, 

In Congress meet ; 
From Afric and from Hindustan, 
From Western continent and isle. 
The envoys of her empire pile 

Gifts at her feet. 



60 MAY DAY ODE. 

Our brethren cross the Atlantic tides, 
Loading the gallant decks, which once 
Roared a defiance to our guns, 

With peaceful store ; 
Symbol of peace, their vessel rides ! * 
O'er English waves float Star and Stripe, 
And firm their friendly anchors gripe 
The father shore ! 

From Rhine and Danube, Rhone and Seine, 
As rivers from their sources gush, 
The swelling floods of nations rush. 

And seaward pour : 
From coast to coast in friendly chain. 

With countless ships we bridge the straits. 
And angry ocean separates 

Europe no more. 

From Mississippi and from Nile — 
From Baltic, Ganges, Bosphorus, 
In England's ark assembled thus 

Are friend and guest. 

Look down the mighty sunlit aisle, 

* The U. S. Frigate St. Lawrence. 



MAY DAY ODE. 61 

And see tlie sumptuous banquet set, 
The brotherhood of nations met 

Around the feast ! 

Along the dazzling colonnade, 
Far as the straining eye can gaze, 
Gleam cross and fountain, bell and vase, 
In vistas bright. 
And statues fair of nymph and maid. 
And steeds and pards and Amazons, 
Writhing and grappling in the bronze, 
In endless fight. 

To deck the glorious roof and dome. 
To make the Queen a canopy. 
The peaceful hosts of industry 

Their standards bear. 
Yon are the works of Brahmin loom ; 
On such a web of Persian thread 
The desert Arab bows his head, 

And cries his prayer. 

Look yonder where the engines toil ; 
These England's arms of conquest are, 
The trophies of her bloodless war : 

Brave weapons these. 



02 MAY DAY ODE. 

Victorious over wave and soil, 

With these she sails, she weaves, she tills, 
Pierces the everlasting hills, 

And spans the seas. 

The engine roars upon its race. 

The shuttle whirrs along the woof, 
The people hum from floor to roof. 

With Babel tongue. 
The fountain in the basin plays. 
The chanting organ echoes clear, 
An awful chorus 'tis to hear, 

A wondrous song ! 

Swell, organ, swell your trumpet blast, 
March, Queen and Royal pageant, march 
By splendid aisle and springing arch 

Of this fair Hall ; 
And see ! above the fabric vast, 

God's boundless- Heaven is bending blue, 
God's peaceful sunlight is beaming through. 
Shines over all. 



Tin-: BALLAD (»!• BOUILLABAISSE. 63 



THE B'O.LAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 



A STBEET there is in Paris famous, 

For which no rhyme our language yields. 
Rue Neuve des petits Champs its name is — 

The New Street of the Little Fields ; 
And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, 

But still in comfortable case ; 
The which in youth I oft attended, 

To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. 

This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is — 

A sort of soup, or broth, or brew, 
Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes. 

That Greenwich never could oiitdo ; 
Green herbs, red peppers, muscles, saffern, 

Soles, onions, garlic, roach and dace ; 
All these you eat at Terke's tavern, 

In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. 



64 THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 

Indeed, a ricli and savory stew 'tis ; 

And true philosophers, methinks. 
Who love all sorts of natural beauties. 

Should love good victuals and good drinks. 
And Cordelier or Benedictine 

Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, 
Nor find a fast-day too afflicting. 

Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. 

I wonder if the house still there is ? 

Yes, here the lamp is, as before ; 
The smiling, red-cheeked ecaillere is 

Still opening oysters at the door. 
Is Terre still alive and able ? 

I recollect his droll grimace ; 
He'd come and smile before your table, 

And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. 

We enter ; nothing's changed or older. 

" How's Monsieur Terre, waiter, pray ? " 
The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder ; — 

" Monsieur is dead this many a day." 
♦♦ It is the lot of saint and sinner. 

So honest Terre's run his race ? " 
"What will Monsieur require for dinner?" 

" Say, do you stUl cook Bouillabaisse ? " 



THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 65 

"Oh, oiii, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer; 

" Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il ? " 
" Tell me a good one." " That 1 can, sir ; 

The Chambertin with yellow seal." 
" So Terke's gone," I say, and sink in 

My old accustomed corner-place ; 
" He's done with feasting and with drinking, 

With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." 

My old accustomed corner here is, 

The table still is in the nook ; 
Ah ! vanished many a busy year is, 

This well-known chair since last I took. 
When first I saw ye, Cart luoghi, 

I'd scarce a beard upon my face. 
And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, 

I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. 

Where are you, old companions trusty 

Of early days, here met to dine ? 
Come, waiter! quick, a flagon crusty — 

I'll pledge them in the good old wine. 
The kind old voices and old faces 

My memory can quick retrace ; 
Around the board they take their places. 

And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. 



66 THE BALLAD OV BOUILLABAISSE. 

There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage ; 

There's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; 
There's brave Augustus drives his carriage ; 

There's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; 
On James's head the grass is growing : 

Good Lord ! The world has wagged apace 
Since here we set the Claret flowing, 

And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. 

Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! 

I mind me of a time that's gone, 
When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting, 

In this same place — but not alone. 
A fair young form was nestled near me, 

A dear, dear face looked fondly up, 
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me 

— There's no one now to share my cup. 

if H' "3.- 

I drink it as the Fates ordain it. 

Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes ; 
FUl up the lonely glass, and drain it 

In memory of dear old times. 
Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is ; 

And sit you down and say your grace 
With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. 

— Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse ! 



THE MAHOGANY TKEE. (J7 



THE MAHOGANY TREE. 



Chkistmas is here ; 
Winds whistle shiill, 
Icy and chill, 
Little care we ; 
Little we fear 
Weather without, 
Sheltered about 
The Mahogany Tree. 

Once on the boughs 
Birds of rare plume 
Sang, in its bloom ; 
Night-birds are we ; 
Here we carouse. 
Singing, like them, 
Perched round the stem 
Of the jolly old tree. 



68 THE MAHOGANY THEE. 

Here let us sport, 
Boys, as we sit ; 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 
Life is but short — 
"When we ai-e gone, 
Let them sing on. 
Round the old tree. 

Evenings we knew, 
Happy as this ; 
Faces we miss. 
Pleasant to see. 
Kind hearts and true. 
Gentle and just, 
Peace to yom* dust ! 
"We sing round the tree. 

Care, like a dun. 
Lurks at the gate : 
Let the dog wait ; 
Happy we'll be ! 
Drink, every one ; 
Pile up the coals, 
Fill the red bowls, 
Round the old tree ! 



THE MAHOOAXT TKEE. 69 

Drain we the cup. — 
Friend, art afraid ? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Red Sea. 
Mantle it up ; 
Empty it yet ; 
Let us forget, 
Round the old tree. 

Sorrows, begone ! 
Life and its ills, 
Duns and their bills. 
Bid we to flee. 
Come with the dawn. 
Blue-devil sprite. 
Leave us to-night. 
Bound the old tree. 



70 THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. 



THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. 



["A surgeon of the United States army says, that on inquirins of the Captain 
of his company, he found that nine tenths of the men had enlisted on account of 
Bome female difficulty."] — Morning Paper. 

Ye Yankee volunteers ! 
It makes my bosom bleed 
When I your story read, 

Though oft 'tis told one. 
So — in both hemispheres 
The women are untrue, 
And cruel in the New, 

As in the Old one ! 



THE YANKEE TOLUXTEERS. 71 

What — in this company 

Of sixty sons of Mars, 

Who march 'neath Stripes and Stars, 

With fife and horn, 
Nine tenths of all we see 
Along the warlike line 
Had but one cause to join 

This Hope Forlorn ? 

Deserters from the realm 

Where tyrant Venus reigns, 

You slipped her wicked chains, 
Fled and out-ran her. 

And now, with sword and helm. 

Together banded are 

Beneath the Stripe and Star- 
embroidered banner ! 

And is it so with all 

The warriors ranged in line. 

With lace bedizened fine 

And swords gold- hil ted — 
Yon lusty corporal. 
Yon color-man who gripes 
The flag of Stars and Stripes — 

Has each been jilted ? 



72 THE YANKEE TOLUNTEEKS. 

Come, each man of this line, 
The privates strong and tall, 
" The pioneers and all," 

The fifer nimble — 
Lieutenant and Ensign, 
Captain with epaulets. 
And Blacky there, who beats 

The clanging cymbal — 

O cymbal-beating black, 
Tell us, as thou canst feel, 
Was it some Lucy Neal 

Who caused thy ruin ? 
nimble fifing Jack, 
And drummer making din 
So deftly on the skin. 

With thy rat-tattooing. 

Confess, ye volunteers. 
Lieutenant and Ensign, 
And Captain of the line, 

As bold as Roman — 
Confess, ye grenadiers, 
However strong and tall. 
The Conqueror of you all 

Is Woman, Woman ! 



THE YANKEE VOLUNTEEKS. 73 

No corselet is so proof, 

But through it from her bow. 

The shafts that she can throw 

Will pierce and rankle. 
No champion e'er so tough, 
But's in the struggle thrown. 
And tripped and trodden down 

By her slim ankle. 

Thus, always it was ruled. 
And when a woman smiled, 
The strong man was a child. 

The sage a noodle. 
Alcides was befooled. 
And silly Samson shorn, 
Long, long ere you were born, 

P^ or Yankee Doodle ! 



74 THE TEN AND THE ALIUM. 



THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. 



" I AM Miss Catherine's book " (the Album speaks) ; 
" I've lain among your tomes these many weeks ; 
I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks. 

" Quick, Pen ! and write a line with a good grace ; 

Come ! draw me off a funny little face ; 

And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place." 

Pen. 

I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen ; 

I've served him three long years, and drawn since then 

Thousands of funny women and droll men. 

O Album ! could I tell you all his ways 

And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days, 

liOrd, how your pretty pages Id amaze I 



the pex a.xd the alb^'m. 

Album. 
His ways ? his thoughts ? Just whisper me a few ; 
Tell me a curious anecdote or two. 
And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do ! 

Pen. 

Since he my faithful service did engage 

To follow him through his queer pilgrimage, 

I've drawn and written many a line and page. 

Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes. 
And dinner cards, and picture pantomimes, 
And merry little children's books at times. 

I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain ; 

The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain ; 

The idle word that he'd wish back again. 

■5." * •*.' 

I've helped him to pen many a line for bread ; 

To joke, with sorrow aching in his head ; 

And make your laughter when his own heart bled. 

I've spoke with men of all degree and sort — 
Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court ; 
O, but I've chronicled a deal of sport. 



76 THE PEN AXD THE ALBUM. 

Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago. 
Biddings to ^^'ine that long hath ceased to flow, 
Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low ; 

Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball. 
Tradesman's polite reminders of his small 
Account due Christmas last — I've answered all. 

Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half- 
Guinea ; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph ; 
So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh. 

Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scofF, 
Day after day still dipping in my trough, 
And scribbling pages after pages off. 

Day after day the labor's to be done, 

And sure as comes the postman and the sun. 

The indefatigable ink must run. 

a- i;- ■};• i:- 

Go back, my pretty little gilded tome. 
To a fair mistress and a pleasant home. 
Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come. 

Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit. 
However rude my verse, or poor my wit. 
Or sad or gav my mood, vou welcome it. 



THE PEX AND THE ALBUM. 77 

Kind lady ! till my last of lines is penned. 
My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end. 
Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend I 

Not all are so that were so in past years ; 
Voices, familiar once, no more he hears ; 
Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. 

So be it : — joys will end and tears Avill dry .... 
Album ! my master bids me wish good by ; 
He'll send you to your mistress presently. 

And thus with thankful heart he closes you ; 
Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew 
So gentle, and so generous, and so true. 

Nor pass the words as idle phrases by ; 

Stranger ! I never writ a flattery. 

Nor signed the page that registered a lie. 



i.ucy's birthday. 79 



LUCY'S BntTHDAY. 



Sevexteex rosebuds in a ring. 
Thick with sister flowers beset, 
In a fragrant coronet, 
Lucy's servants this day bring. 
Be it the birthday wreath she wears 
Fresh and fair, and symbolling 
The young number of her years, 
The sweet blushes of her spring. 

Types of youth and love and hope ! 
Friendly hearts your mistress greet. 
Be you ever fair and sweet. 
And grow lovelier as you ope ! 
Gentle nursling, fenced about 
With fond care, and guarded so. 
Scarce you've heard of storms without. 
Frosts that bite, or winds that blow ! 



80 Lucy's birthday. 

Kindly has your life begun, 
And we pray that Heaven may send 
To our floweret a warm sun, 
A calm summer, a sweet end. 
And where'er shall be her home. 
May she decorate the place ; 
Still expanding into bloom. 
And developing in grace. 



THE CANE-BOTTOMED CHAIR. 81 



THE CANE^BOTTOMED CHAIR. 



In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, 
And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, 
Away from the world and its toils and its cares, 
I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. 

To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure. 

But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure ; 

And the view I behold on a sunshiny day 

Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. 

This snug little chamber is crammed in all nooks. 
With worthless old knickknacks and silly old books, 
And foolish old odds and foolish old ends. 
Cracked bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes 
from friends. 



83 THE CA.XE-BOTTOMED CHAIR. 

Old armor, prints, pictures, pipes, china, (all cracked,) 

Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed; 

A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see ; 

What matter r 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. 

Xo better divan need the sultan require. 
Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire ; 
And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get 
From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. 

That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp ; 
By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp ; 
A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn ; 
"Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. 

Long, long through the hours, and the night, and the 

chimes. 
Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old 

times ; 
As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie 
This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. 

But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest. 
There's one that I lore and I cherish the best ; 
For the finest of couches that's padded \N-ith hair 
I never would change thee, my cane-bottomed chair. 



THE CANE-BOTTOMED CHAIR. 83 

'Tis a bandy-legged, high-shouldered, worm-eaten seat. 
With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet ; 
But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, 
1 bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottomed chair. 

If chairs have but feeling, in holding such charms, 

A thrill must have passed through your withered old 

arms ; 
I looked, and I longed, and I \Wshed in despair ; 
I wished myself turned to a cane-bottomed chair. 

It was but a moment she sat in this place ; 
She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face ! 
A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, 
And she sat there, and bloomed in my cane-bottomed 
chair. 

And so I have valued my chair ever since. 

Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince ; 

Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare. 

The queen of my heart and my cane-bottomed chair. 

When the candles bum low, and the company's gone, 
In the silence of night as I sit here alone — 
I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair — 
My !• anny I see in my cane-bottomed chair. 



84 



THE CANE-BOTTOMKD CHAIR. 




She comes from the past and revisits my room ; 
She looks as she then did, al! beauty and bloom ; 
So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair ; 
And yonder she sits in my cane-bottomed chair. 



nSCATOR AM) riSCATKIX. 85 



PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. 



LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT. 



As on this pictured page I look. 
This pretty tale of line and hook. 
As though it were a novel-book, 

Amuses and engages ; 
I know them both, the boy and girl ; 
She is the daughter of the Earl, 
The lad (that has his hair in curl,) 

My lord the County's page is. 

A pleasant place for such a pair ; 
The fields lie basking in the glare ; 
No breath of wind the heavy air 

Of lazy summer quickens. 
Hard by, you see the castle tall ; 
The village nestles round the wall, 
As round about the hen, its small 

Young progeny of chickens. 



PISCATOR AXD PISCATRIX. 87 

It is too hot to' pace the keep ; 
To climb the turret is too steep ; 
My lord the Earl is dosing deep, 

His noonday dinner over ; 
The postern-warder is asleep, 
(Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep,) 
And so from out the gate they creep, 

And cross the fields of clover. 

Their lines into the brook they launch ; 
He lays his cloak upon a branch. 
To guarantee his Lady Blanche 

's delicate complexion : 
He takes his rapier from his haunch. 
That beardless doughty champion staunch ; 
He'd drill it through the rival's paunch 

That questioned his affection ! 

O heedless pair of sportsmen slack ! 
You never mark, though trout or jack. 
Or little foolish tickleback. 

Your baited snares may capture. 
What care has she for line and hook ? 
She turns her back upon the brook, 
Upon her lover's eyes to look 

In sentimental rapture. 



PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. 

loving pair ! as thus I gaze 
Upon the girl who smiles always, 
The little hand that ever plays 

Upon the lover's shoulder ; 
In looking at your pretty shapes, 
A sort of envious wish escapes 
(Such as the fox had for the grapes) 

The poet, your beholder. 

To be brave, handsome, twenty-two ; 
With nothing else on earth to do, 
But all day long to bill and coo ; 

It were a pleasant calling. 
And had I such a partner sweet ; 
A tender heart for mine to beat, 
A gentle hand my clasp to meet ; — 
I'd let the world flow at my feet. 

And never heed its brawling. 



RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. 89 



RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. 



" Qiiand voup scrcz bien vieille, le soir k la chandelle 
Assise aupr^s du feu devisant et filant 
Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant, 
Ronsanl m"a celebr^ du temps que j'6toi.s boUe." 

SdME winter night, shut snugly in 

Beside the fagot in the hall, 
I think I see you sit and spin. 

Surrounded by your maidens all. 
Old tales are told, old songs are sung, 

Old days come back to memory ; 
You say, " When I was fair and young, 

A poet sang of me ! " 

There's not a maiden in your hall, 
Though tired and sleepy ever so. 

But wakes, as you my name recall. 
And longs the history to know. 



90 RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. 

And as the piteous tale is said. 

Of lady cold and lover true, 
Each, musing, carries it to bed, 

And sighs and envies you ! 

" Our lady's old and feeble now," 

They'll say ; " she once was fresh and fair ; 
And yet she spurned her lover's vow. 

And heartless left him to despair ; 
The lover lies in silent earth 

No kindly mate the lady cheers ; 
She sits beside a lonely hearth. 

With threescore and ten years ! " 



Ah ! dreary thoughts and dreams are those 

But wherefore yield me to despair, 
While yet the poet's bosom glows, 

While yet the dame is peerless fair ! 
Sweet lady mine ! while yet 'tis time 

Requite my passion and my truth. 
And gather in their blushing prime 

The roses of your youth ! 



AT THE CHURCH GATE. 91 



AT THE CHURCH GATE. 



Although I enter not. 
Yet round about the spot 

Ofttimes I hover ; 
And near the sacred gate, 
With longing eyes I wait. 

Expectant of her. 

The minster bell tolls out 
Above the city's rout, 

And noise and humming ; 
They've hushed the minster bell : 
The organ 'gins to swell ; 

She's coming, she's coming ! 

My lady comes at last. 
Timid and stepping fast. 
And hastening hither, 



AT THE CHURCH GATE. 93 

With modest eyes downcast : 
She comes — she's here, she's past — 
May Heaven go with her ! 

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint ! 
Pour out your praise or plaint 

Meekly and duly ; 
I will not enter there, 
To sully your pure prayer 

With thoughts unruly. 

But suffer me to pace 
Round the forbidden place, 

Lingering a minute 
Like outcast spirits who wait 
And see through Heaven's gate 

Angels within it. 



94 THE AGE OF WISDOM. 



THE AGE OF WISDOM. 



Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 

That never has known the barber's shear. 
All your wish is woman to win, 
This is the way that boys begin, — 
Wait till you come to Forty Year. 

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains. 

Billing and cooing is all your cheer ; 
Sighing and singing of midnight strains, 
Under Bonnybell's window panes, — 
Wait till you come to Forty Year ! 

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass. 

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear — 
Then you know a boy is an ass. 
Then you know the worth of a lass, 
Once you have come to Forty Year. 



96 THE AGE OF -WISDOM. 

Pledge me round, I bid ye declare, 

All good fellows whose beards are gray. 
Did not the fairest of the fair 
Common grow and wearisome ere 
Ever a month was past away ? 

The reddest lips that ever have kissed. 

The brightest eyes that ever have shono, 
May pray and whisper, and we not list, 
Or look away, and never be missed, 
Ere yet ever a month is gone. 

Gillian's dead, God rest her bier ; 

How I loved her twenty years syne ! 
Marian's married, but I sit here 
Alone and merry at Forty Year, 

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. 



SORROWS OK WKRTUKR. 97 



SORROWS OF WERTHER. 



Weether had a love for Charlotte 
Such as words could never utter ; 

Would you know how first he met her? 
She was cutting bread and butter. 

Charlotte was a married lady. 
And a moral man was Werther, 

And for all the wealth of Indies, 
Would do nothing for to hurt her. 

So he sighed and pined and ogled, 
And his passion boiled and bubbled. 

Till he blew his silly brains out, 
And no more was by it troubled. 



S)8 SOREOWS OF "WERTHEK. 

t 

Charlotte, having seen his body 
Borne before her on a shutter. 

Like a well-conducted person, 

Went on cutting bread and butter. 



THE LAST OF MAY. 99 



THE LAST OF MA\ 
(in eeply to an invitation dated on the 18T.) 



Rt fate's benevolent award, 

Sliould I survive the day, 
I 'II drink a bumper \^-itli my lord 

Upon the last of May. 

That I may reach that happy time 

The kindly gods I pray, 
For are not ducks and peas in prime 

Upon the last of May ? 

At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then. 
My knife and fork shall play. 

But better wine and better men^ 
I shall not meet in May, 



100 THE LAST OF MAY. 

And though, good friend, with whom I dine, 

Your honest beard is gray. 
And like this grizzled head of mine, 

Has seen its last of May, 

Yet, %vith a heart that's ever kind, 

A gentle spirit gay, 
You've spring perennial in your mind ! 

And round you make a May ! 



AED-EL-KAOER AT TOULON. 101 



ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. 

OK, THE CAGED HAWK. 
• 

Xo more, tlioii lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert-life 

for thee; 
No more across the sultry sands shalt thou go swooping 

free : 
Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning of thy chain. 
Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne'er may'st spread 

again. 

Long, sitting by their watchfires, shall the Kabyles tell the 

tale 
Of thy dash from Ben Ilalifa on the fat Metidja vale; 
IIow thou swept'st the desert over, bearing down the wild 

El Rim 
From eastern Beni Salah to western Ouad Shelif; 



102 ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. 

How thy white linrnons went streaming, like the storm- 
rack o'er the sea. 

When tliou roilest in the vanward of the JNIoorisli chivalry ; 

How thy razzia was a whirlwind, thy onset a simoom, 

How thy sword-sweep was the lightning, dealing deatii 
from out the gloom! 

Nor less quick to slay in battle than in peace to spare and 

save. 
Of brave men wisest counsellor, of wise counsellors most 

brave ; 
How the eye that flashed destruction could beam gentleness 

and love. 
How lion in thee mated lamb, how eagle mated dove! 

Availed not or steel or shot 'gainst that charmed life secure. 
Till cunning France, in last resource, tossed up the golden 

lure ; 
And the carrion buzzards round him stooped, faithless, to 

the cast. 
And the wild hawk of the desert is caught and caged at last. 

Weep, maidens of Zerifah, above the laden loom ! 

Scar, chieftains of Al Elmah, your cheeks in grief and 

gloom ! 
Sons of the Beni Snazam, throw down the useless lance. 
And stoop your necks and bare your backs to yoke and 

scourjre of France! 



104 ABD-EL-KAUER AT TOULON. 

'T was not in fight they bore hhii down ; he never cried 

amun ; 
He never sank liis sword before the Prince of Frans^histan! 
But witli traitors all around him, his star upon the Avane, 
He heai'd the voice of Allah, and he would not strive in vain. 

They gave him what he asked them ; from king to king he 

spake. 
As one that plighted word and seal not knoweth how to 

break ; 
" Let me pass from out my deserts, be 't mine own choice 

where to go, 
I brook no fettered life to live, a captive and a show." 

And they promised, and he trusted them, and proud and 

calm he came, 
Upon his black mare riding, girt with his sword of fame. 
Good steed, good swoi»d, he rendered both unto the Frankish 

throng ; 
He knew them false and fickle — but a Prince's Avord is 

strong. 

How have they kept their promise? Turned the}^ the ves- 
sel's prow 

Unto Acre, Alexandria, as they have sworn e'en now? 

Not so: from Oran northwards the white sails gleam and 
glance. 

And the wild hawk of the desert is borne away to France! 



ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. 105 

Where Toulon's white-walled lazaret looks southward o'er 

the wave. 
Sits he that trusted in the word a son of Louis gave. 
O noble faith of noble heart! And was the warning vain. 
The text writ by the Bourbon in the blurred black book of 

Spain ? 

They have need of thee to gaze on, they have need of thee 

to grace 
The triumph of the Prince, to gild the pinchbeck of their 

race. 
Words are but wind, conditions must be construed by 

Guizot; 
Dash out thy heart, thou desert hawk, ere thou art made 

a show! 



106 TUE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAPOLEON. 



THE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAPOLEON. 

A GHOSTLY CORTEGE. 

**De mortuis nil nisi 6o?ie-um." — Vos Grcbber. 
Item QuL. CoBBETT, " De ossibus Poenae surripiendis." 



I. 

The midnight moon, in her wintry shroud 
Of snow, with a boa-constrictor of cloud — 

Like the frieze of Repail, 

Such as Father M'Hail 
Wears — ditto big Dan and his savory tail — 
Squints down on the city of Paris the Proud. 
Not that city of Paris the Greeks rushed pelUnell in, 

Precisely as Clan would walk into a pigeon — 
Not the city of Priam, with only one Hell-in, 

But the city so famed for its mcev.rs and religion, 
The joyous Lutetia Parisiorum — 

Now blubb'ring o'er bones, 

Old Napoleon's, 



THE FUXFRAL PBOCES9I0X OF NAPOLEON. 107 

With her " sentimentalibua lachrymae roar'em" 

With such speecbing and screechin'', 

Processions and preaching — 
Even Humbug himself could n't bear to encore 'em. 



In that city shines out the Place de la Concorde, 
A spot very often baptized, and in blood. 
First, as Place Louis Quinze, it smiled down on the fans, 
Muffs, snuffs, and mustaches, lords, lackeys, sedans, 
Hoops, jupes, and perruques, 
Priests, princes, and cooks. 
With a very fair dash of grisettes and gamins, 
And candidates fair 
For the famed Pare aux Cerfs, 
Where Louis Quinze kept up a very nice stud ; 
Then the abbes and tabbies of the Ancienne Cour, 
Bossuet, Du Barre, Ninon, Pompadour, 
Who never once dreamt a republican boor 
G)uld trample the lilies, both parent and bud ; 
Could wrest from their lord, life, sceptre, and sword. 
And give Rumination Gaul's bitterest cud ! 

Next the Jacobin clique named it Place Republique. 
Where the Goddess of Reason played many a freak ; 



108 THE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAPOLEON. 

Where Citizen Clootz, sans breeches or boots, 
With the Dames de la Halle in their Billingsgate suits — 
(Like our Premier's pet, 
And his Socialist set, 
Pure Robert O. N. and his female recruits.) 
Proved how very superior was man to the brutes. 

There the Corate Mirabeau, like Ireland's great O, 
The novelist Danton, like Lord " Yes and No," 
Deemed the fall of the monarchy quite comme il faut, 
And the guillotine's fountains most '"jolisjets d'eau!" 
Then Napoleon named the Place as his own, 
When keenly his sword cut a path to the throne — 

When he beat into fits 

The land of old Fritz — 
Pommeled the pulks of his friend Pauleowitz — 
Concluding the ball with thy balls, Austerlitz ! 
And, last, what they call "The Three Days" of the Gaul, 
When Carolus Decimus went to the wall. 

Named it {lucus a non) 

La Place de la Con- 
Corde : id est, Square of No Concord at all. 

III. 

Well, there stands the square, {nHmporte for the word) — 
No brighter is found in the city of Lud : 



THE FUNERAL PROCESSIOX OF NAPOLEON. 109 

It lies 'tween the Cliateau and Champs Elysees — 
The very same place where poor Louis Capet 
Lost his crown, and his head too, one jubilee day, 
When both were right merrily kicked through the mud. 

(Sad augur that bored 

Monk, monarch, and lord, 
With hatchments instanter from Anarchy's brood!) 
Dark in the centre the Luxor Colonne 

Of blood-red granite 

Points up to night's planet. 
As if there to write the fell deeds here done. 
But, hark ! 't is old Notre Dame chiming for one. 
It has struck ! To the top of the column upsprang 
A spectre terrific in aspect and mien. 
First formed from the haze of the fell guillotine — 
The Spectre of Vengeance was he, I ween ! 

And his clarion rang ! 
Forth at the bla.*t, through the glorious arch 
Of triumph at Neuilly, — stiff, stark, and starch, — 
Some myriads of spectres commence th^ir march ! 

While Death, th' undertaker, 

Stalked cool as a Quaker, 
Or gallant Napier promenading through Acre. 



110. THK FUNERAL PROCESSION OF KAPOLEON. 



IV. 

First singing, con brio, the Marsellaise, 

Come " the terrible sections " of St. Marceau. 
Just as they appeared in their palmier days, 
Before they were mowed by young Bonaparte's cannon, 
Which speedily broke 
Down the doors of St. Roch, 
And peppered the altars with many a man on ! 
Waving o'er Albion's " alien " foe 
Floats the banner of green 
In its ghastly sheen, 
Glare the spectral pikes from the shores of the Shannon. 

Who is he ? 
Thy shade, D'Enghien ! And yonder? Toussaint ! 
One shot like a dog at Valenciennes, 
One famished to death in his dungeon den ! 
There, the loyal and free, 
De la Rochejacquelin leads on La Vendee, 
Huzza ! 
Jena and Wagram give up their dead, 
And the Vistula sends from her gory bed 
Each eski and owski. 
Words set to a cow's-key ; 
Each owski and eski. 
As brave as Fieschi, — 



THE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAPOLEOX. HI 

The shades of the slain to a tyrant's fell reign ; 
And next march the patriot spirits of Spain ! 

V. 

" Guerra al cuchillo ! " with crashing caraccos, 
Cigars in their mouths of unearthly tobaccos — 
Stalk the solemn seiiors 
From Iberia's shores, 
With knives in their girdles — on crania shakos. 
Sounds the death-trump of the Osmanlie ! 

The Crescent glares down on th' Invader's paD, 
Who, minus big BHeber, 
Could stoutly belabor 
The Mameluke Copt and his Padishaw neighbor ; 
Could smile at the terrors of Mahomet's sabre, 
And kick the Impostor from Taurus to Tabor ! 
Next, one and all. 
In their terrible glee. 
And close on the kibes of the ghost of Mustapha, 
March 'neath the arch, quite as gelid as Staffa, 
The poor devils poisoned by Boney at Jaffa. 

While after the hydrocyanic! zed Gaul 
Rush a pulk of Cosaques on their spectral hacks. 
That were roasted to death near the Kremlin's wa'J 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! 



112 THE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAPOLEON. 

Boom for the frost-bittea ghosts who saw 

The dreadful retreat from the fires of Moskwa ; 

When mankind's elite, 

Over snow, hail, and sleet, 
And ice, with a Calmuc contempt for a thaw, 

Fled, minus their toes. 

Ears, fingei's, and nose. 

Which blasts Hyperborean cruelly froze — • 

Fled, cursing defeat 

To a host's winding-sheet, 
And glutted to nausea red Carnage's maw ! 



TI. 

Darkly the spectral procession moves on, 

And now it is passing the Luxor Stone. 
The moon on the bodiless bier hath shone, 

And the Spirit of Vengeance his clarion hath blown I 
Again, at the strain, the spectral train, 
From the steppes of the Russ and Sierras of Spain, 
From the waves of the West and Zaharas dun, 
Forth to the wintry winds have outthrown 
The banners He conquered and trampled upon ! 
All — all are there, save only One — 
And that glorious exception is Albion ! 



THE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAPOLEON. 113 

Her brow is unmarked by the brand of shame, — 
Her flag never quailed at the Despot's name ; 
But brightly and broadly, o'er flood and o'er flame, 

O'er the Nile, Trafalgar, the Sirocco " Sun 
Of Austerlitz " triumphed, and still is the same 
Tiiat waved over Nelson, and hallowed the fame 

Of England, when Waterloo crowned Wellington ! 



VII. 

Thirdly, and lastly, the spectral blast 
Of the trump o'er the shivering Seine is cast ; 
And, lo ! round the column of Place Vendome 
Banner, and bier, and battalion have come, 
While the clarion hoarse and the muffled drum 
Pay the last honors ; and now 't is past. 
Why shudders the moon in her shroud aghast ? 
The column grows red 
As the blood that was shed 
To rear it ! ' T is melting and crumbling fast 
The gore-soddened ashes. 
And now down dashes 
The statue to earth 'mong the gibbering band ; 
And He who once shook 
The earth with a look, 



114 THE FUNERAL PROCESSION OF NAFOI-EON. 

He who ruled over kings by the power of his brand, 
All his glories forsook 
For one little book, 
And goes down to all time with his " Codes " in his hand. 

V Envoi. 

Vanish the spectres ere morning's glow, 
Leaving this moral to Jehann Crapeaud : 
'T is best to be great pro Minerva than Marte ; 
Then pro bono pub. would be pro Bona-parte ! 



MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN. Ho 



MRS. KATIIERINE'S LANTERN. 



WRITTEN IN A LADY S ALBUM. 



" Coming from a gloomy court, 
Place of Israelite resort, 
This old lamp I 've brought with me. 
Madam, on its panes you '11 see 
The initials K and E." 

"An old lantern brought to me? 

Ugly, dingy, battered, black ! " 

(Here a lady I suppose 

Turning up a pretty nose) — 
" Pray, sir, take the old thing back. 

I 've no taste for bricabrac." 

" Please to mark the letters twain " — 
(I 'm supposed to speak again) — 



116, MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTKRN. 

" Graven on the lantern pane. 
Can you tell me who was she, 
Mistress of the flowery wreath, 
And the anagram beneath — 
The mysterious K E ? 

" Full a hundred years are gone 
Since the little beacon shone 
From a Venice balcony : 
There, on summer nights, it hung, 
And her lovers caipe and sung 
To their beautiful K E. 

" Hush ! in the canal below 
Don't you hear the plash of oars 
Underneath the lantern's glow, 
And a thrillino; voice begins 
To the sound of mandolins ? — 
Begins singing of amore 
And delire and dolore — 
O the ravishing tenore ! 

" Lady, do you know the tune ? 
Ah, we all of us have hummed it I 
I 've an old guitar has thrummed it. 



118 MRS. katherine's lanterx. 

Under many a changing moon. 

Shall I try it ? Do RE MI * * 

What is this ? Ma foi, the fact is 

That my hand is out of practice, 

And my poor old fiddle cracked is, 

And a man — I let the truth out — 

Who 's had almost every tooth out. 

Cannot sing as once he suug, 

When he was young as you are young. 

When he was young and lutes were strung, 

And love-lamps in the casement hung." 



AH, BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE MOOR. 119 



AH! BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE I\IOOR." 



Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor. 

Ah I loiul and piercing was the storm. 
The cottage roof was sheltei-'d sure, 

The cottage hearth was bright and warm- 
An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd, 

And, as he mark'd its cheerfid glow. 
Felt doubly keen the midnight blast. 

And doubly cold the fallen snow. 

They marked liim as he onward press'd, 

With iiiinting heart and weary limb; 
Kind voices bade him turn and rest. 

And gentle fiices welcomed him. 
The dawn is up, — the guest is gone. 

The cottage hearth is blazing still : 
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone! 

Hark to the wind upon the hill ! 



■lis.. 




THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. 121 



THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. 

— • — 

The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming, 
Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring ; 
You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is 

blooming. 
It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. 

The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood 

ringing. 
Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were 

blowing keen: 
And if mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing. 
It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. 

Thus each performs his part, mamma; the birds have found 

their voices, 
The blowing rose a flush, mamma, her bonny cheek to dye ; 
And there 's sunshine in my heart, mamma, which wakens 

and rejoices. 
And so I sing and blush, mamma, and that 's the reason 

why. 



122. A DOE IN THE CITY. 



A DOE IN THE CITY. 



Little Kitty Lorimer, 

Fair, and young, and witty. 
What has brought your ladyship 

Rambling to the City? 

All tlie stags in Capel Court 

Saw her lightly trip it ; 
All the lads of Stock Excliange 

TwiggVl her muft' and tippet. 

AVith a sweet perplexity, 

And a mystery pretty, 
Threading through Threadneedle Street, 

Trots the little Kitty. 

"Wliat was my astonishment — 
"What was my compunction. 

When she reached the Offices 
Of the Didland Junction ! 

Up the Didland stairs she went. 
To the Didland door, sir, 



124- A DOE IN THE CITY. 

Porters lost in wonderment. 
Let her pass before, sir. 

" ]Madani," says the old chief Clerk, 
" Sure \Ye can 't admit ye." 

'• Where 's the Didland Junction deed? " 
Dauntlessly saj-s Kitty. 

"If you doubt my honesty. 

Look at my i*eceipt, sir." 
Up then jumps the old chief Clerk, 

Smiling as he meets lier. 

Kitty at the table sits 

(Whither tlie old clerk leads her), 
" / deliver tJiis,'''' she says, 

" As my act and deed, sir" 

When I heard these funny words 
Come from lips so pretty ; 

This, I thought, should surely be 
Subject for a ditty. 

What! are ladies stagging it? 

Sure, the more "s the pity ; 
But I Ve lost my heart to her, — 

Naughty little Kitty. 



FAIRY DAYS. 



125 







*^-- 



FAIRY DAYS. 



Beside the old hall-fire, upon my nurse's knee, 

Of happy faiiy (lays what tales were told to me I 

I thought the world was once all peopled with princesses. 

And my heart would beat to hear their loves and their 

distresses ; 
And many a quiet night, in slumber sweet and deep. 
The pretty fair)' people would visit me in sleep. 



126 FAIRY DAYS. 

T saw thorn in my dronms oonio tlyinir oasr and west. 
With wondrous fairy gifts tlio uow-born babo thoy bloss'd ; 
One has brought a jowel, and one a crown of gold. 
Ami one has brought a curse, but she is wrinkled and old. 
The gentle queen turns pale to hear those words of sin. 
But the king he only laughs and bids the dance begin. 

The babe has gi'own to be the fairest of the land, 
AtuI riiles the forest gi-een. a hawk upon her hand. 
An ambling palfrey white, a golden robe ami crown : 
I 've seen her in my dreams riding up and down : 
And heard the ogro laugh as she fell into his snare. 
At the little tender exvature who wept and tore her hair! 

But ever when it seemed her nooil was at the sorest, 

A prince in shining mail comes jnancing through the forest, 

A waving ostrich-plume, a buckler burnished bright; 

I 've seen him in my dreams, — good sooth! a gallant knight. 

His lips .are coral red, beneath a dark mustache; 

See how he waves his hand and how his blue eyes llash! 

"Come forth, thou Paynlm knight I" he shouts in accents 

clear. 
The giant and the maid both tremble his voice to hear. 
Saint Mary guard him well! — he draws his falchion keen. 
The giant and the knight are fighting on the green. 



FAIRY DAYS. 127 

I see them in my dreams, his blade gives stroke on stroke. 
The giant pants and reels, an<l tumbles like an oak! 

With wliat a blushing grace ho falls upon his knee 

And takes the lady's hand, and whisf^ers, ' You are free!" 

All! happy childish tales of knight and faerie! 

I waken from my dreams, but there's ne'er a knight for 

me! 
I waken from my dreams, and wish that I could be 
A child by the old hall-lire upon my nurse's knee! 



128 SONG OF THE VIOLET. 



SOXG OF THE VIOLET. 

A HUMBLE flou-er long time I pined 

Upon the solitaiy plain. 
And trembled at the angry wind, 

And shrunk Ijefore the bitter rain. 
And oh! 't was in a blessed hour 

A passing Avanderer chanced to see 
And, pitying the lonely flower, 

To stoop and gather me. 

I fear no more the tempest rude. 

On dreary heath no more I pine, 
But left my cheerless solitude. 

To deck the breast of Caroline. 
Alas ! our daj-s are brief at best. 

Nor long I fear will mine endure. 
Though shelter'd here upon a breast 

So gentle and so pure. 

It draws the fragrance from my leaves, 

It robs me of my sweetest breath. 
And every time it foils and heaves. 

It warns me of my coming death. 
But one I know would glad forego 

All joys of life to be as I ; 
An hour to rest on that sweet breast, 

And then, contented, die. 



130 POCAHONTAS. 



POCAHONTAS. 



Wearied arm and broken sword 
Wage in vain tlie desperate fight : 

Round him press a countless horde, 
He is but a single knight. 

Hark! a cry of triumph shrill 
Through the wilderness resounds, 
As» with twenty bleeding wounds. 

Sinks the wan-ior, fighting still. 

Now they heap the fatal pyre, 

And the torch of death they light; 

Ah! 'tis hai'd to die of fire? 

Who will shield the captive knight? 

Round the stake with fiendish cry 
Wheel and dance the savage crowd, 
Cold the victim's mien, and proud. 

And his breast is bared to die. 



132 POCAHONTAS. 

Who will shield the fearless heart? 

Who avert the murderous blade? 
From the throng, with sudden start. 

See there springs an Indian maid. 
Quick she stands before the knight : 

"Loose the chain, unbind the ring; 

I am daughter of the king, 
And I claim the Indian right! " 

Dauntlessly aside she flings 
Lifted axe and thirsty knife ; 

Fondly to his heart she clings, 
And her bosom guards his life! 

In the woods of Powhattau, 
Still 't is told by Indian fires, 
How a daughter of their sires 

Saved the captive Englishman. 



FROM POCAHONTAS. 

Returning from the cruel fight 

How pale and faint a2)pears my knight! 

He sees me anxious at his side ; 

" Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide? 

Or deem your English girl afraid 

To emulate an Indian maid? " 



POCAHONTAS. 133 

Be mine my hasbancVs grief to cheer. 

In peril to be ever near ; 

Whatever of ill or woe betide, 

To bear it clinging at his side ; 

The poisoned stroke of fate to ward, 

His bosom with my own to guard: 

Ah! could it spare a pang to his, 

It could not know a purer bliss ! 

'T would gladden as it felt the smart, 

And thank the hand that fluns: the dart ! 



131 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 



THE LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA OF KIOFF. 



AN EPIC POEM, IN TWENTY BOOKS. 



The poet describes 
the city aud sj^ell- 
ing of Kiew," 
or Kiova. 



A THOUSAND years ago, or more, 

A city filled with burghers stout, 

And girt with ramparts round about. 
Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore. 
In armor bright, by day and night, 

The sentries they paced to and fro. 
Well guarded and walled was this town, and called 

By different names, I'd have you to know ; 
For if you looks in the g'ography books. 
In those dictionaries the name it varies. 
And they Avrite it off Kieff or Kioff, 
Kiova or Kiow. 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. I37 

Its buildings, pub- 
li:- works, and ordi- 
jj^ nances, religious 

and civil. 

Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt, 

Kiova within was a place of renown, 
With more advantages than in those dark ages 

"Were commonly known to belong to a town. 
There were places and squares, and each year four fairs, 
And regular aldermen, and regular lord mayors ; 
And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace ; 
And a church with clocks, for the orthodox — 
With clocks and with spires, as religion desires ; 
And beadles to whip the bad little boys 
Over their poor little corduroys. 
In service time, when they didn't make a noise ; 
And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral green 
With ancient trees, underneath whose shades 
Wandered nice young nursery maids. 
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-ring-ding, 
The bells they made a merry, merry ring. 
From the tall, tall steeple ; and all the people 
(Except the Jews) came and filled the pews — 
Poles, Russians, and Germans, 

fT« 1 ,1 The pret shows how 

To hear the sermons ^ certain priest 

Which Hyacinth preached to those <J^<^» »* Kioff, a 

godlj' clegymai., 

Germans and Poles, ^^^^ o^e that 

preached rare good 

ror the safety of their souls, sermoos. 



138 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 



How this priest was 

short, and fat of III. 

body; 

A worthy priest he was, and a stout — • 
You've seldom looked on such a one ; 

For, though he fasted thrice in a week, 

Yet nevertheless his skin was sleek ; 

His waist it spanned two yards about, 
And he weighed a score of stone. 

And like unto the 

author of " Plym- jy 

ley's Letters." 

A worthy priest for fasting and prayer. 
And mortification most deserving, 

And as for preaching, beyond compare ; 

He'd exert his powers for three or four hours, 

With greater pith than Sidney Smith, 
Or the Reverend Edwai-d Irving. 

Df what convent he 

was prior, and when 

the convent was ^» 

bnilt. 

He was the prior of Saint Sophia, 

(A Cockney rhyme, but no better I know) — 

Of St. Sophia, that church in Kiow, 

Built by missionaries I can't tell when ; 
Who by their discussions converted the Russians, 

And made them Christian men. 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 139 

Of Saint Sophia of 
KiofT; and how her 
^I' statue miraculously 

travelled thither. 

Sainted Sophia (so the legend vows) » 

With special favor did regard this house ; 

And to uphold her convert's new devotion, 
(Her statue needing but her legs for her ship) 
Walks of itself across the German ocean ; 
And of a sudden perches 
In this the best of churches. 
Whither all Kiovites come and pay it grateful worship. 

And how Kioff 
Yjj should have been a 

happy city ; but that 

Thus with her patron saints and pious preachers, 

Recorded here in catalogue precise, 
A goodly city, worthy magistrates. 
You would have thought in all the Russian states 
The citizens the happiest of all creatures, 

The town itself a perfect Paradise. 



No, alas ! this well-built city Certain wicked Cos- 

„_ . , ^ n 1 . *ac''8 'I'd besiege it, 

Was in a perpetual fidget ; 
For the Tartars, without pity. 
Did remorselessly besiege it. 



140 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 

Tartars fierce, with swords and sabres, 
Huns and Turks, and such as these, 
* Envied much their peaceful neighbors 

By the blue Borysthenes. 

Murdering the Down they came, these ruthless Russians, 

oitizens. 

rrom their steppes, and woods, and 
fens, 
For to levy contributions 
On the peaceful citizens. 

Winter, Summer, Spring, and Autumn, 
Down they came to peaceful Kioff, 

Killed the burghers when they caught 
'em. 
If their lives they would not buy off. 

Until the} agreed Till the city, quite confounded 

to pay a tribute 

yearly. By the ravages they made. 

Humbly with their chief compounded, 
And a yearly tribute paid ; 

How they paid Which (^because their courage lax was) 

the tribute, and _■, ^• -, i t -i i 

then suddenly -•• ^^7 discharged while they were able ; 

refused it, Tolerated thus the tax was, 

Till it grew intolerable. 



THX GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 141 

And the Calmuc enA'oy sent, To the wonder of 

the Cossack envoy. 

As before, to take their dues all. 
Got, to his astonishment, 
A unanimous refusal ! 

" Men of KiofF! " thus courageous Of a mighty gallant 

speech 

Did the stout lord-mayor har- 
angue them, 
*' Wherefore pay these sneaking wages 
To the hectoring Russians ? hang them ! 



" Hark ! I hear the awful cry of That the lord-mayor 

Our forefathers in their graves ; ' 

' Fight, ye citizens of KiofF ! 
KiofF was not made for slaves.' 



" All too long have ye betrayed her ; Exhorting the 

_ TIT burghers to pay no 

House, ye men and aldermen, longer. 

Send the insolent invader — 

Send him starving back again ! " 



He spoke and he sat down ; the people of their thanks and 

« , , , heroic resolves. 

of the town. 
Who were fired with a brave em- 
ulation. 



142, THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 

Now rose witli one accord, and voted 
thanks unto the lord- 
Mayor for his oration : 

They dismiss the The envoy they dismissed, never placing 

envoy, and set 

about diilling. in his fist 

So much as a single shilling ; 
And all with courage fired, as his lordship 
he desired. 
At once set about their drilling. 



Of the city guard : Then every city ward established a guai-d, 

viz., militia, dra- 
goons, and bum- Diumal and nocturnal ; 

Militia volunteers, light dragoons ana 

bombardiers. 

With an alderman for colonel. 



madiers, and thuir 
commanders. 



There was muster and roll-calls, and repair- 
ing city walls. 
And filling up. of fosses : 
Of the m^ors and And the captains and the majors, so gallant 

captains, 

and courageous, 
A-ridinor about on their bosses. 



The fortifications T( be guarded at all hours they built 

and artillery. 



themselves watch-towers, 
With every tower a man on ; 



THE GEEAT COSSACK EPIC. 14;i 

And surely and secure, each from out his embrasure. 
Looked down the iron cannon ! 

A battle-song was writ for the theatre, where it 

"Was sung with vast energy 
And rapturous applause ; and besides, the or the conduct 

. ,. of the acton 

public cause and the clergy. 

Waa supported by the clergy. 

The pretty ladies' maids were pinning of cockades. 

And tying on of sashes ; 
And dropping gentle tears, while their lovers blustered 
fierce, 

About gun-shot and gashes ; 

The ladies took the hint, and all day were Of the udies; 

scraping lint, 

As became their softer genders ; 
And got bandages and beds for the Hmbs and for the heads 

Of the city's brave defenders. 

The men, both young and old, felt resolute and bold, 

And panted hot for glory ; 
Even the tailors 'gan to brag, and em- And, finally, of 

broidered on their flag, theuyiors. 

"aut wixceee An moei." 



144 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 



Of the Cossack Seeing the city's resolute condition, 

chief, — his 

stratagem; The Cossack chief, too cunning to de- 

spise it. 
Said to himself, " Not having ammunition 
Wherewith to batter the place in proper form, 
Some of these nights I'll carry it by storm. 
And sudden escalade it or surprise it. 

And the bur- " Let's see, however, if the cits stand 

ghers' sillie 

Tictorie. firmish." 

He rode up to the city gates ; for answers. 
Out rushed an eager troop of the town elite. 
And straightway did begin a gallant skirmish : 
The Cossack hereupon did sound retreat, 

Leaving the victory with the city lancers. 

What prisoners They took two prisoners, and as manv 

they took, ^ •' 

horses. 

And the whole town grew quickly so elate 
With this small victory of their virgin forces. 
That they did deem their privates and commanders 
So many Cscsars, Pompeys, Alexanders, 

Xapoleons, or Fredericks the Great. 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 145 



AikI how (oncelt- 



And puffini' with inordinate conceit _, , 

'^ " ed they were. 

They utterly desjjised these Cossack thieves ; 
And thought the ruffians easier to beat 
Than porters carpets think, or ushers boys. 
Meanwhile, a sly spectator of their joys. 

The Cossack captain giggled in his sleeves. 

" Whene'er you meet yon stupid city hogs chief,— his orders- 

(He bade his troops precise this order keep), 
" Don't stand a moment — run away, you dogs ! " 
'Twas done ; and when they met the town battalions. 
The Cossacks, as if frightened at their valiance. 
Turned tail, and bolted like so many sheep. 

-Ihey nert, obedient to their captain s order : feigned a retreat. 

And now this bloodless siege a month had lasted. 
When, viewing the country round, the city warder 
(Who, like a faithful weathercock, did perch 
Upon the steeple of Saint Sophy's church,) 

Sudden his trumpet took, and a mighty blast he blasted. 

His voice it might be heard through all The warier pro- 
claims the Cos- 
the streets sacks,' retre.it, and 

the citic crrt&tlv 

(He was a warder wondrous strong in rejoyces. 
lung,) 
" V^ictory, victory ! the foe retreats ! " 



146 THE GEEAT COSSACK EPIC. 

" The foe retreats ! " each cries to each he meets ; 
" The foe retreats ! " each in his turn repeats. 

Gods ! how the guns did roar, and how the joy- 
bells rung ! 

Arming in haste his gallant city lancers, 

The Mayor, to learn if true the news might be, 

A league or two out issued with his prancers. 

The Cossacks (something had given their courage 
a damper,) 

Hastened their flight, and 'gan like mad to scamper : 
Blessed be all the saints, Kiova town was free ! 



Now, puffed with pride, the Mayor grew vain, 

Fought all his battles o'er again ; 

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew 

the slain. 
'Tis true he might amuse himself thus, 
And not be very murderous ; 
For as of those who to death were done 
The number was exactly none, 

'His lordship, in his soul's elation 
The manner pj^j ^^^^ ^ bloodless recreation — 

of the cities 

rejoycings, Going home again, he did ordain 

A very splendid cold collation 



THE GREA.T COSSACK EPIC. 147 

For the magistrates and the corporation ; 

Likewise a grand illumination. 

For the amusement of the nation. 

That night the theatres were free, 

The conduits they ran Malvoisie ; 

Each house that night did beam with light 

And sound with mirth and jollity : 

But shame, O shame ! not a soul in the ^^'^^ '*^ impiety 

town, 
Now the city was safe, and the Cossacks flown. 
Ever thought of the bountiful saint by whose care 

The town had been rid of these terrible Turks — 
Said even a prayer to that patroness fair. 

For these her wondrous works ! ^'^^ t^e pnest, 

Hyacinth, waited 

Lord Hyacinth waited, the meekest of at church, and 

nobody came 
P"ors — jl^ij,,^^ 

He waited at church with the rest of his friars ; 
He went there at noon, and he waited till ten. 
Expecting in vain the lord-mayor and his men. 

He waited and waited from mid-day to dark ; 
But in vain — you might search through the whole of the 

church. 
Not a layman, alas ! to the city's disgrace, 
From mid-day to dark showed his nose in the place. 

The pew-woman, organist, beadle, and clerk, 
Kept away from their work, and were dancing like mad 



148 THE GKEAT COSSACK EPIC. 

Away in the streets with the other mad people, 
Not thinking to pray, but to guzzle and tipple 
Wherever the drink might be had. 



How he weut 

forth to bid them Amidst this din and revelry throughout the 

to prayers. 

city roaring, 

The silver moon rose silently, and high in heaven 
soaring ; 

Prior Hyacinth was fervently upon his knees adoring : 

" Towards my precious patroness this conduct sure un- 
fair is ; 

I cannot think, I must confess, what keeps the digni- 
taries 

And our good mayor away, unless some business them 
contraries." 

He puts his long white mantle on, and forth the prior 

sallies — 
(His pious thoughts were bent iipon good deeds and not 

on malice :) 
Heavens ! how the banquet lights they shone about the 

mayor's palace I 
About the hall the scullions ran with meats both fresh 

and potted ; 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 149 

The pages came with cup and can, all for the guests 

allotted ; 
Ah, how they jeered that good fat man as hw the grooms 

. and lackeys jeered 

up the stairs he trotted ! him. 

He entered in the ante-rooms, where sat the mayor's 

court in ; 
He found a pack of drunken grooms a-dicing and 

a-sporting ; 
The horrid wine and 'bacco fumes, they set the prior 

a- snorting ! 
The prior thought he'd speak about their sins before he 

went hence, 
And lustily began to shout of sin and of repentance ; 
The rogues, they kicked the prior out before he'd done a 

sentence ! 

And having got no portion small of buffet- And the mayor, 

, . , . mayoress, and 

ing and tussling, aldermen, beiug 

At last he reached the banquet-hall, where gfto'churTh.*^ "" 

sat the mayor a-guzzling. 
And by his side his lady tall, dressed out in white sprig 

muslin. 
Around the table in a ring the guests were drinking 

heavy ; 



150 THE GKEAT COSSACK EPIC. 

They drunk the church, and drunk the king, and the army 

and the navy ; 
In fact, they'd toasted every thing. The prior said, " God 

save ye ! " 

The mayor cried, " Bring a silver cup — there's one upon 

the beaufet ; 
And, prior, have the venison up — it's capital rechauffe. 
And so, Sir Priest, you've come to sup ? And, pray you, 

how's Saint Sophy? " 
The prior's face quite red was grown, with horror and 

with anger ; 
He flung the proffered goblet down — it made a hideous 

clangor ; 
And 'gan a-preaching with a frown — he was a fierce 

haranguer. 

He tried the mayor and aldermen — they all set up 

a-jeering: 
He tried the common qouncilmen — they too began 

a-sneering ; 
He turned towards the may'ress then, and hoped to get 

a hearing. 
He knelt and seized her dinner dress, made of the muslin 

snowy. 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 151 

" To church, to church, my sweet mistress ! " he cried ; 

" the way I'll show ye." 
Alas, the lady-mayoress fell back as drunk as Chloe ! 



XIII. 

How the prior 

Out from this dissolute and drunken court went back aion«, 
Went the good prior, his eyes with weeping dim : 

He tried the people of a meaner sort — 

They, too, alas ! were bent upon their sport, 
And not a single soul would follow him ! 

But all were swigging schnaps and guzzling beer. 

He found the cits, their daughters, sons, and spouses 
Spending the live-long night in fierce carouses : 

Alas ! unthinking of the danger near ! 
One or two sentinels the ramparts guarded, 

The rest were sharing in the general feast : 
" God wot, our tipsy to^vn is poorly warded ; 

Sweet Saint Sophia help us ! " cried the priest. 

Alone he entered the cathedral gate, 

Careful he locked the mighty oaken door ; 

Within his company of monks did wait, 
A dozen poor old pious men — no more. 



152 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 

O, but it grieved the gentle prior sore, 
To think of those lost souls, given up to drink and fate ! 

And shut himself The mighty outer gate well barred and fast, 

into Saiut Sophia's 

chapel with his The poor old friars stirred their poor 

brethren. i i i 

old bones, 
And pattering swiftly on the damp, cold stones. 

They through the solitary chancel passed. 

The chancel walls looked black, and dim, and vast, 
And rendered, ghost-like, melancholy tones. 

Onward the fathers sped, till coming nigh a 

Small iron gate, the which they entered quick at, 
They locked and double-locked the inner wicket. 

And stood within the chapel of Sophia. 

Vain were it to describe this sainted place ; 
Vain to describe that celebrated trophy. 
The venerable statue of Saint Sophy, 

Which formed its chiefest ornament and grace. 

Here the good prior, his personal griefs and sorrows 
In his extreme devotion quickly merging. 

At once began to pray mth voice sonorous ; 

The other friars joined in pious chorus, 

And passed the night in singing, praying, scourging, 
In honor of Sophia, that sweet virgin. 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 



153 



Leaving thus the pious priest in 
Humble penitence and prayer, 

And the greedy cits a-feasting, 
Let us to the walls repair. 



The episode of 
SneezotT and 
Katinka. 



Walking by the sentry-boxes, 
Underneath the silver moon, 

Lo ! the sentry boldly cocks his — 
Boldly cocks his musketoon. 

SneezofF was his designation, 
Fair-haired boy, for ever pitied ; 

For to take his cruel station, 
He but now Katinka quitted. 

Poor in purse were both, but rich in 
Tender love's delicious plenties ; 

She a damsel of the kitchen, 
He a haberdasher's 'prentice. 



'Tinka, maiden tender-hearted. 
Was dissolved in tearful fits, 

On that fatal night she parted 

From her darling, fair-haired Fritz. 



15-i THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 

Warm her soldier lad she wrapt in 

Comforter and muffetee ; 
Called him " general "' and *' captain," 

Though a simple private he. 

" On your bosom wear this plaster, 
'TavlU defend you from the cold ; 

In your pipe smoke this canaster, 
Smuggled 'tis, my love, and old. 

" All the night, my love, I'll miss you." 
Thus she spoke ; and from the door 

Fair-haired Sneezoff made his issue. 
To return, alas ! no more. 

He it is who calmly walks his 
Walk beneath the silver moon ; 

He it is who boldly cocks his 
Detonating: musketoon. 



He the bland canaster puffing, 
As upon his round he paces. 

Sudden sees a ragamuffin 

Clambering s'v\'iftly up the glacis. 



THE GKEAT COSSACK EPIC. 157 

" Who goes there ? " exclaims the sentry ; 

" When the sun has once gone down 
No one ever makes an entry 

Into this here fortified town ! " 



Shouted thus the watchful Sneezoff ; Uow the sentrio 

Sneezoff was sar- 

But, ere any one replied, prised and siayi- 

Wretched youth ! he fired his piece off, 
Started, staggered, groaned, and died ! 



XV. 

How the Cos- 

Ah, full well might the sentinel cry, " Who ^''-^'^s rushed in 

suddenly and 
goes there ? " took the citie. 

But echo was frightened too much to declare. 

Who goes there ? who goes there ? Can any one swear 

To the number of sands sur les bords de la mer. 

Or the whiskers of D'Orsay Count down to a hair ? 

As well might you tell of the sands the amount. 

Or number each hair in each curl of the Count, 

As ever proclaim the number and name 

Of the hundreds and thousands that up the wall came ! 

Down, down the knaves poured with fire and with sword : 

There were thieves from the Danube and of the Cossack 

rogues from the Don ; *''°°p'' 

There were Turks and Wallacks, and shouting Cossacks ; 



158 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 

Of all nations and regions, and tongues and religions — 
Jew, Christian, Idolater, Frank, Mussulman : 

Ail, a horrible sight was KiofF that night ! 
And of their manner The gates were all taken — no chance e'en 

of burning, murder- 
ing, and ravishing. 01 lllgnt ; 

And with torch and with axe the bloody Cossacks 
Went hither and thither a-hunting in packs ; 
They slashed and they slew both Christian and Jew — 
Women and children, they slaughtered them too. 
Some, saving their throats, plunged into the moats. 
Or the river — but, 0, they had burned all the boats ! 



How they burned 

the whole citie But here let US pause — for I can't pursue 

down, save the 

church, further 

This scene of rack, ravishment, ruin, and murther. 

Too well did the cunning old Cossack succeed ! 

His plan of attack was successful indeed ! 

The night was his own — the town it was gone ; 

'Twas a heap still a-burning of timber and stone. 

One building alone had escaped from the fires. 
Whereof the bells Saint Sophy's fair church, with its steeples 

began to ring. j 

* and spires. 

Calm, stately, and white, 
It stood in the light ; 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 159 

And as if 'twould defy all the conqueror's power, — 

As if nought had occurred, 

Might clearly be heard 
The chimes ringing soberly every half hour ! 



XTI. 

The city was defunct — silence succeeded 

Unto its last fierce agonizing yells ; 
And then it was the conqueror first heeded 

The sound of these calm bells. 
Furious towards his aides-de-camps How the Cossack 

, chief bade them 

he turns, l,urn the cliurch 

And (speaking as if Byron's works ^°' 
he knew) 
" Villains ! " he fiercely cries, " the city burns. 

Why not the temple too ? 
Burn me yon church, and murder all within ! " 

The Cossacks thundered at the „ ^, 

How they 
outer door ; stormed it ; and 

of Hyacinth, his 

And Father Hyacinth, who heard the anger theieat. 

din 
(And thought himself and brethren in distress. 
Deserted by their lady patroness), 

Did to her statue turn, and thus his woes out- 
pour. 



160 ' THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 



XVII. 
His prarer to the . i • • i /-v <> i •• i 

Saint Sophia. " And IS it tlius, O f;usest ol tlio saiuts. 

Thou hearest our complaints : 
Tell me, did ever my attachment falter 

To serve thy altar ? 
Was not thy name, ere ever I did sleep, 

The last upon my lip ? 
"Was not thy name the very first that hroke 

From me when I awoke ? 
Have I not tried with fiisting, flogging, penance. 

And mortified countenance 
For to find favor, Sophy, in thy sight ? 

And lo ! this night. 
Forgetful of my prayers, and thine own promise. 

Thou turnest from us : 
Lettest the heathen enter in our city. 

And, without pity. 
Murder our hurghers, seize upon their spouses. 

Burn do%vn their houses ! 
Is such a breach of faith to be endured ? 

See what a lurid 
Light from the insolent invader's torches 

Shines on your porches ! 
E'en now, ^vith thundering battering-ram 6md hammer 

And hideous clamor ; 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPXC. 161 

With axemen, swordsmen, pikemen, billmen, bowmen, 

The conquering foemen, 
O Sophy ! beat your gate about your ears, 

Alas ! and here's 
A humble company of pious men. 

Like muttons in a pen. 
Whose souls shall quickly from their bodies be thrusted. 

Because in you they trusted. 
Do you not know the Calmuc chiefs desires — 

Kill all the feiaes ! 
And you of all the saints most false and fickle. 

Leave us in this abominable pickle." 

"RASHHTAcixTHtrs!" riTs^ir 

(Here, to the astonishment of all her backers. 

Saint Sophy, opening wide her wooden jaws. 
Like to a pair of German walnut-crackers. 

Began) " I did not think that you had been thug, — 

O monk of little faith ! Is it because 

A rascal scum of filthy Cossack heathen 

Besiege our town, that you distrust in me, then ? 

Think'st thou that I, who in a former day 

Did walk across the Sea of Marmora 

(Not mentioning, for shortness, other seas), — 

That I, who skimmed the broad Borysthenes, 

Without so much as wetting of my toes. 



162 THE GKEAT COSSACK EPIC. 

Am fi-ightened at a set of men like those ? 
I have a mind to leave you to your fate : 
Such cowardice as this my scorn inspires." 

But is interrupted Saint Sophy was here 

by the breaking iu 

of the Cossacks. Cut short in her words, — 

For at this very moment in tumbled the gate, 

And ^^ith a wild cheer, 

And a clashing of swords, 

Swift through the church porches, 

With a waving of torches. 

And a shriek, and a yell, 

Like the devils of hell. 

With pike and with axe 

In rushed the Cossacks, — 

In rushed the Cossacks, crying, " Mukdeb 

THE FRIARS ! " 
Of Hyacinth, his 

ontrageous address. Ah ! what a thrill felt Hyacinth, 

When he heard that villanous shout Calmuc ! 
Now, thought he, my trial beginneth ; 

" Saints, O give me courage and pluck ! 
Courage, boys, 'tis useless to funk ! 

Thus unto the friars he began, 
Never let it be said that a monk 

Is not likewise a gentleman. 



THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 103 

Though the patron saint of the church, 

Spite of all that we've done and we've prayed, 

Leaves us wickedly here in the lurch. 
Hang it, gentlemen, who's afraid r " 

As thus the gallant Hyacinthus spoke, And prepara- 

He with an air as easy and as free as 
If the quick-coming murder were a joke. 
Folded his robes around his sides, and took 
Place under sainted Sophy's legs of oak. 

Like Caesar at the statue of Pompsius. 
The monks no leisure had about to look 
(Each being absorbed in his particular case). 
Else had they seen with what celestial grace, 
A wooden smile stole o'er the saint's mahogany face, 
uim 



Well done, well done, Hyacinthus, my Saint Sophia, 

, ,, her speech. 

son; 



Thus spoke the sainted statue. 
" Though you doubted me in the hour of need, 
And spoke of me very rude indeed. 
You deserve good luck for showing such pluck. 

And I won't be angry at you." 



The monks by-standing, one and all, She gets on the 

prlor'a shoulder* 

Of this wondrous scene beholders, straddietack. 



164 ■ THE GKEAT COSSACK EPIC. 

To this kind promise listened content, 
And couldn't contain their astonishment, 
When Saint Sophia moved and went 
Down from her wooden pedestal, 
And twisted her legs, sure as eggs is eggs. 
Round Hyacinthus's shoulders ! 

And bids " Ho ! forwards," cries Sophy, " there's no time 

him rnn. . . 

for waiting, . 
The Cossacks are breaking the very last gate in : 
See the glare of their torches shines red through tht 
grating ; 

We've still the back door, and two minutes or more. 
Now, boys, now or never, we must make for the river, 

For we only are safe on the opposite shore. 
Run swiftly to-day, lads, if ever you ran, — 
Put out your best leg, Hyacinthus, my man : 
And I'll lay five to two that you carry us through, 

Only scamper as fast as you can." 



He runneth, XVIII. 

Away went the priest through the little back door. 
And light on his shoulders the image he bore : 

The honest old priest was not punished the least. 
Though the image was eight feet, and he measured four. 



THE GBEAT COSSACK EPIC. 165 

Away went the prior, and the monks at his tail 
Went snorting, and puffing, and panting full sail ; 

And just as the last at the back door had passed. 
In furious hunt behold at the front 
The Tartars so fierce, with their terrible cheers ; 
With axes, and halberds, and muskets, and spears, 
With torches a-flaming the chapel now came in. 
They tore up the mass book, they stamped on the psalter, 
They pulled the gold crucifix down from the altar ; 
The vestments they burned with their blasphemous fires. 
And many cried " Curse on them ! where are the friars ? " 
When loaded with plunder, yet seeking for more. 
One chanced to fling open the little back door. 
Spied out the friars' white robes and long shadows 
In the moon, scampering over the meadows. 
And stopped the Cossacks in the midst of their arsons. 

By crying out lustily, " There go the And the Tar- 

tars after him 
PARSONS ! 

With a whoop and a yell, and a scream, and a shout, 
At once the whole murderous body turned out ; 
And 8^vift as the hawk pounces down on the pigeon. 
Pursued the poor short-winded men of religion. 



When the sound of that cheering came How the friar* 

sweated, 

to the monk's hearing, 
O Heaven ! how the poor fellows panted and blew ! 



166 THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 

At fighting not cunning, unaccustomed to running, 

When the Tartars came up, what the deuce should 
they do ? 
" They'll make us all martyrs, those bloodthirsty 
Tartars ! " 
Quoth fat Father Peter to fat Father Hugh. 
The shouts they came clearer, the foe they drew 
nearer ; 
O, how the bolts whistled, and how the lights shone ! 
" I cannot get further, this running is murther ; 

Come carry me, some one !" cried big Father John. 
And even the statue grew frightened, " Od rat you ! " 

It cried, " Mr. Prior, I wish you'd get on ! " 
On tugo-ed the good friar, but niojher and mc^her 
Appeared the fierce Russians, with sword and with fire. 
On tugged the good prior, at Saint Sophy's desire, - — 
A scramble through bramble, through mud and through 

mire. 
The swift arrows' whizziness causing a dizziness, 
Nigh done his business, fit to expire. 
Father Hyacinth tugged, and the monks they tugged 

after : 
The foemen pursued with a horrible laughter. 
And the pursuers And hurled their long spears round the 

fixed arrows into , ^, , 

their tayis. Poo'* brethren s ears. 

So true, that next day in the coats of each 
priest. 



THE GREAT COSSACK KPIC. 167 

Though never a wound was given, there were found 
A dozen arrows at least. 

Now the chase seemed at its worst. How, at the 

Pnor and monks were nt to burst ; 
Scarce you knew the which was first, 

Or pursuers or pursued ; 
When the statue, by Heaven's grace. 
Suddenly did change the face 
Of this interesting race. 

As a saint, sure, only could. 

For as the jockey who at Epsom rides. 

When that his steed is spent and punished sore, 
Diggeth his" heels into the courser's sides. 

And thereby makes him run one or two furlongs more ; 

Even thus, betwixt the eighth rib and the ninth. 
The saint rebuked the prior, that weary creeper ; 

Fresh strength into his limbs her kicks imparted. 

One bound he made, as gay as when he ^he friars won, 

started. and jumped in- 

to Borysthenes 

Yes, with his brethren clinging at his fluvius. 

cloak, 
The statue on his shoulders — fit to choke — 
One most tremendous bound made Hyacinth, 
And soused friars, statue, and all, slap dash into the 

Dnieper ! 



168 ■ IHE GKEAI COSSACK EPIC. 



And how the XIX. 

KuEsiuns saw 

And when the E-ussians, in a fiery rank. 
Panting and fierce, drew up along the shore ; 

(For here the vain pursuing they forebore. 
Nor cared they to surpass the river's bank). 
Then, looking from the rocks and rushes dank, 

A sight they witnessed never seen before, 
And which, with its accompaniments glorious. 
Is writ i' the golden book, or liber aureus. 

The statue get off Plump in the Dnieper flounced the friar 

Hyacinth his back, j p • j 

and sit down with ^^^ iriends, 

the friars on Hya- rj.. dangling round his neck, he fit to 

cinth his cloak J b o » 

choke. 

When suddenly his most miraculous cloak 
Over the billowy waves itself extends. 
Down from his shoulders quietly descends 

The venerable Sophy's statue of oak ; 
Which, sitting down upon the cloak so ample. 
Bids all the brethren follow its example ! 

now in this man- Each at her bidding sat, and sat at ease ; 

ner of boat they rm . , 5 • ..• 

Kiyied away. -The statue gau a gracious conversation, 

And (waving to the foe a salutation) 
Sailed with her wondering, happy proteges 



THE GEEAT COSSACK EPIC, 171 

Gayly adown the wide Borysthenes, 

Until they came unto some friendly nation. 
And when the heathen had at length grown shy of 
Their conquest, she one day came back again to Kioff. 



XX. Finis, or 

the eaJ. 

TiawK NOT, O Reabek, that we're laughixo at 

toxt; 
Y<m MAY ao TO Kioff now, and see the statue ! 



l?'^ • TITMARSIl's CARMEN LILLIENSE. 



TITMAESH'S CABMEN LILLIENSE. 



Lille, Sept. 2, 1843 
Tdt/ neart is iveary, my peace is gone, 

How shall I e'er my woes reveal 7 
I have no money, I lie in pawn, 

A stranger in the town of Lille. 



With twenty pounds but three weeks since 
From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel, 

I thought myself as rich a prince 
As beggar poor I'm now at Lille. 



Confiding in my ample means — 
In troth, I Avas a happy chiel ! 

I passed the gates of Valenciennes. 
I never thought to come by Lille. 



174 " titmaesh's cakmex lilliexse. 

I never thought my twenty pounds 

Some rascal knave would dare to steal ; 

I gayly passed the Belgic bounds 

At Quievrain, twenty miles from Lille. 

To Antwerp to^^^l I hastened post, 
And as I took my evening meal 
I felt my pouch, — my purse was lost, 

Heaven ! Why came I not by Lille ? 

I straightway called for ink and pen, 

To grandmamma I made appeal ; 
Meanwhile a loan of guineas ten 

1 borrowed from a friend so leal. 

I got the cash from grandmamma, 

(Her gentle heart my woes could feel) 

But where I went, and what I saw, 
What matters ? Here I am at Lille. 

My heart is w'eary, my peace is gone, 
How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? 

I have no cash, I lie in pawn, 
A stranger in the town of Lille. 



titmaesh's cabmen lilliexse. 175 



To stealing I can never come, 

To pawTi my watch I'm top genteel, 

Besides, I left my watch at home ; 
How could I pawn it, then, at Lille ? 

" La note," at times the guests will say, 
I turn as white as cold boiled veal ; 

I turn and look another way, 
/ dare not ask the bill at Lille. 

I dare not to the landlord say, 

" Good sir, I cannot pay your bill ; " 

He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, 
Ajid is quite proud I stay at Lille. 

He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, 
Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel, 

And so he serves me every day 

The best of meat and drink in Lille. 

Yet when he looks me in the face 
I blush as red as cochineal ; 



176 TITMARSH S CAKMEX LILLIEXSE. 

And think did lie but know my case. 
How changed he'd be, my host of Lille. 

My heart is weary, my peace is gone. 
How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? 

I have no money, I lie in pawn, 
A strang-er in the town of Lille. 



The sun bursts out in furious blaze, 
I perspiratc from head to heel ; 

I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise : 
How can I, without cash, at Lille ? 

I pass in sunshine burning hot 
By cafes where in beer they deal ; 

I think how pleasant were a pot, 
A frothing pot of beer of Lille ! 

What is yon house with walls so thick, 
All girt around with guard and grille ? 

O, gracious gc'g, it makes me sick, 
It is the prison-house of Lille ! 



TITMARSIl's CARMKX LIXLIENSE. 177 

cursed prison strong and barred, 
It does my very blood congeal I 

1 tremble as I pass the guard, 

And qifit that ugly part of Lille. 

The church-door beggar whines and prays 

I turn away at his appeal : 
Ah, church-door beggar ! go thy ways ! 

You're not the poorest man in Lille. 

My heart is weary, my peace is gone, 

How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? 
I have no money, I lie in pawn, 

A stran";er in the town of Lille. 



IV. 

Say, shall I to yon Flemish church, 
And at a Popish altar kneel ? 

O do not leave me in the lurch, — 
I'll cry ye patron- saints of Lille ! 

Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops. 
Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal. 



178 TIT-MARSH S CARMEX LILLIEXSK. 

Look kindly doA\Ti I before you stoops 
The miserablest man in Lille. 

And lo ! as I beheld with awe 

A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real) 

It smiled, and turned to grandmamma ! — 
It did ! and I had hope in Lille ! 

'Twas five o'clock, and I could eat, 
Although I could not pay, my meal : 

I hasten back into the street 

Where lies my inn, the best in Lille. 

"What see I on my table stand, — 
A letter with a well-known seal ? 

'Tis grandmamma's ! I know her hand, — 
" To Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, Lille." 

I feel a choking in my throat, 

I pant and stagger, faint and reel ! 

It is — it is — a ten pound note. 
And I'm no more in pawn at Lille ! 

[He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to 
the bosom of his happy family.] 



JEAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE. 179 



JEA:ikIES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE. 

A IIELEGY. 



Come all ye gents vot cleans the plate. 

Come all ye ladies maids so fair — 
Vile I a story vill relate 

Of cruel Jeames of Buckley Square. 
A tighter lad, it is confest, 

Neer valked with powder in his air, 
Or vore a nosegay in his breast, 

Than andsnm Jeames of Buckley Square. 

O Evns ! it vas the best of sights. 

Behind his Master's coach and pair, 
To see our Jeames in red plush tights, 

A driving hoflf from Buckley Square. 
He vel became his hagwilletts. 

He cocked his hat with such a hair; 
His calves and viskers vas such pets. 

That hall loved Jeames of Buckley Square. 



180 JKAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE, 

He pleaserl the hnp-stairs folks as veil. 

And o! I vitherefl vith despair. 
Misses vorild ring the parlor bell. 

And call up Jeames in Buckley Square. 
Both beer and spen-its he abhord 

(SpeiTits and beer I can't a bear). 
You would have thought lie vas a lord 

Down in our All in Buckley Square. 

Last year he visper''d, " Mary Ann, 

Yen I 've an under''d pound to spare. 
To take a public is my plan, 

And leave this hqjous Buckley Square." 
O how my gentle heart did bound. 

To think that I his name should boar! 
" Dear Jeames," says I. '• I've twenty pound," 

And gev them him in Buckley Square. 

Our master vas a City gent, 

His name 's in railroads everywhere, 
And lord, vot lots of letters vent 

Betwigst his brokers and Buckley Square : 
My Jeames it was the letters took. 

And read them all (I think it's fair). 
And took a leaf from Master's book. 

As hothers do in Buckley Square. 



JEAMES OF BUCKLEY S(itARE. 181 

Encouraged with my twenty pound. 

Of wlilch poor 1 was unavare, 
I le wrote the Companies all round. 

And signed hisself from Buckley Square. 
And how John Porter used to grin. 

As day by day, share after share. 
Came railway letters pouring in, 

"J. Plush, Esquire, Buckley Square." 

Our servants' All was in a rage — 

Scrij), stock, curves, gradients, bull and bear. 
Villi butler, coachman, gi"oom. and page, 

Vas all the talk in Buckley Square. 
But 01 imagine vot I felt 

Last Vensday veek as ever were; 
I gits a letter, whic4i I spelt 

•'Miss ]M. A. Hoggins, Buckley Square." 

He sent me back my money true - 

He sent me back my lock of air. 
And said, '• My dear. I bid ajew 

To Mary Hann and Buckley Square. 
Think not to marry, foolish Hann, 

With people who your betters are; 
James Plush is now a gentleman. 

And you — a cook in Buckley Square. 



182 JEAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE. 

" I 've thirty thousand guineas won. 

In six short months, by genus rare; 
You little thought what Jeames was on, 

Poor Mary Hann, in Buckley Square. 
I Ve thirty thousand guineas net ; 

Powder and plush I scorn to vear ; 
And so, Miss Mary Hann, forget 

For hever Jeames of Buckley Square." 



LINES UrON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. 183 



LIXES UPON iMY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. 

BY THE LORD SOUTHDOWN. 



The castle towers of Baveacros ai-e fair upon the lea. 
Where the ellfl's of bonny DidcUesex rise up from out the 

sea : 
I stood upon the donjon keej) and view'd the country o'er, 
I saw the lands of Bareacres for fifty miles or more, 
I stood upon the donjon keep — it is a sacred jDlace — 
Where floated for eight hundred years the banner of my 

race ; 
Argent, a dexter sinople, and gules an azure field : 
There ne'er was nobler cognizance on knightly warrior's 

shield. 

The first time England saw the shield 't was round a Xor- 

man neck. 
On board a ship from Valeiy. King William was on deck. 
A Xorman lance the colors Avore. in Hastings' fatal fray — 
St. Willibald for Bareacres ! 't was double gules that day ! 



184 LIKES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. 

O Heaven and sweet St. Willibald I in many a battle since 
A loyal-heai-teil Bareacres has ridden by his Prince ! 
At Acre with Plantafjenet. with Edward at Poictiers. 
The pennon of the Bareacres was foremost on the spears ! 

'Twas pleasant in the battle-shock to hear our war-ciy 

ringing: 
O gi-ant me, sweet St. Willibald, to listen to such singing! 
Three hundred steel-clad gentlemen, we drove the foe before 

us, 
And thirty score of British bows kept twanging to the 

chorus ! 

knights, my noble ancestors I and shall I never hear 
Sir Willibald for Bareacres through battle ringing clear? 

1 'd cut me off this strong right hand a single hour to ride. 
And strike a blow for Bareacres. my fathers, at your side ! 

Dash down, dash down, yon mandolin, beloved sister minel 
Those blushing lips may never sing the glories of our line : 
Oar ancient castles echo to the clumsy feet of churls. 
The spinning-jenny houses in the mansion of our Eai-ls. 
Sing not, sing not, my Angeline ! in days so base and vile, 
'T were sinful to be happy, 't were sacrilege to smile. 
I "11 hie me to my lonely hall, and by its cheerless hob 
I '11 muse on other days, and wish — and wish I were — A 
Snob. 



UTILE BILLEE. 185 



LITTLE BILLEE. 



There were 3 sailors in Bristol city, 
Who took a boat and went to sea. 

But first with beef and captain's biscuit, 
And pickled pork they loaded she. 

There was guzzling Jack and gorging Jimmy, 
And the youngest he was little Billee. 

Now very soon, they were so greedy, 
They did n't leave not one split pea. 

Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy, 
" I am extremely hungaree." 

Says gorging Jim to guzzling Jacky, 

*' "We have no provisions, so we must eat we." 



236 LITTLE BILLEE. 

Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy, 
" O gorging Jim, what a fool you be ! 

" There 's little Bill is young and tender, 
We 're old and tough, so let 's eat he." 

" O Bill, we 're going to kill and eat you, 
So undo the collar of your chemie." 

When Bill received this infumation 
He used his pocket-handkerchie. 

" O let rae say my catechism, 

As my poor mammy taught to me." 

*' Make haste, make haste," says guzzling Jacky, 
While Jim pulled out his snickersnee. 

So Bill went up the maintop-gallant mast, 
Where down he fell on his bended knee. 

He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment, 
When up he jumps, " There 's land, I see. 

" There 's Jerusalem and Madagascar, 
And North and South Amerikee. 




f./a.S *- \ 



188 LITTLE BILLEE. 

" There 's the British fleet a riding at anchor. 
With Admiral Nelson, K. C. B." 

So when they came to the admiral's vessel, 
He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee. 

But as for little Bill, he made him 
The captain of a seventy-three. 



THE IDLER. 189 



THE IDLER. 



With the London hubbub 
Overtiretl and jiestered, 
I sought out a subbub 
Where I lay sequestei'ed, — 
Where I lay for three days. 
From Saturday till Monday, 
And (per face aut nefaee) 
]\Iade the most of Sunday ; 

Burning of a cheevoot 
When I 'd had a skinful. 
Squatting on a tree-root. 
Doubting if't was sinful; 
As the bells at Kingston 
Made a pretty clangor, 
I (forgiving heathen) 
Heard them not in anger ; — 



190 THE IDLER. 

Heard and i-ather fancied 
Their reverberations. 
As I sat entranced 
With my meditations. 
From my Maker's pi-aises 
Easily I wandered 
To pull up his daisies, 
As I sat and pondered. 

As I puird his daisies 
Into little pieces. 
Much I thought tif life 
And how small its ease is ; 
Much I blamed the Avoi'ld 
For its worldly vanity. 
As my smoke upcurlVl, 
Type of its inanity. 

By world I meant the town, 
Mayfair, and its higli doings, 
Or rather my own set. 
Its chatterings and cooings.* 
So I viewed the strife 
And the sport of London, 
Doubting if its life 
Were overdone or undone. 



THE IDLER. 191 

Be it slow or r.ipid, 
Tf it wakes or slumbers. 
Anyhow it 's vapid ; — 
Moonshine from ciicwrrabers. 
^lan is useless too. 
Be he saint or satyr ; 
Nothing 's new or true. 
And — it does n't matter. 

May not I and Jeames 
Be compared together, 
I in inking reams. 
He in blacking leather? 
Snob and Swell are peers ; 
Snuffer, chewer, Avhiffer, — 
In a hundred years 
Wherein shall we differ? 

Counting on to-moiTow's 
"Oirish." "Whither tendeth 
He who simply boiTows, 
He who simpler lendeth? 
If we give or take. 
Where remains the profit? 
Sold or wide awake 
All will go to Tophet. 



192 THE IDLER. 



To Tophet — shady club 
Where no one need propose ye, 
Where Hamlet hints "the rub" 
Is not select or cosey. 
In that mixed vulgar place. 
It does n't matter who pays. 
There's no more " Bouillabaisse." 
And no more petits soiipers. 

Why then seek to vie 
With Solomons or Sidneys? 
Why care for Strasbourg pie. 
For pnncli or devilled kidneys? 
Why write "Yellow Plush?" 
Why should we not wear it? 
Wherefore should we blush? 
Rather gi'in and bear it. 

These uprooted daisies 
Speak of useless ti'ouble ; 
Cheroots that burn like blazes 
Show that life's a bubble. 
Thus musing on our lot, 
A fogeyfied old sinner, 
I 'm glad to say I got — 
An appetite for dinner. 




VAXITAS VANITATUM. 



How spake of old the Royal Seer ? 

(His text is one I love to treat on.) 
This life of ours, he said, is sheer 

Mataiotes Mafaioteton, 

Student of this gilded Book, 

Declare, while musing on its pages, 

If truer words were ever spoke 
By ancient, or by modern sages ? 



The various authors' names but note,* 

French, Spanish, English, Russians, Germans 

And in the volume polyglot, 

Sure you may read a hundred sermons ! 



194 V ANITAS VANITATUM. 

"What histories of life are here, 

More wild than all romancers' stories ; 

What wondrous transformations queer, 
What homilies on human glories ! 

What theme for sorrow or for scorn ! 

What chronicle of Fate's surprises — 
Of adverse Fortune nobly borne, 

Of chances, changes, ruins, rises ! 

Of thrones upset, and sceptres broke, 
How strange a record here is written ! 

Of honors, dealt as if in joke ; 

Of brave desert unkindly smitten. 

How low men were, and how they rise ! 
How high they were, and how they tumble ! 

Vanity of vanities ! 

laughable, pathetic jumble ! 

Here, between honest Janin's joke 
And his Turk Excellency's firman, 

1 write my name upon the book : 

I write my name — and end my sermon. 



VANITAS VAXITATUM. 195 

O Vanity of vanities ! 

How wayward the decrees of Fate are ! 
How very weak the very wise, 

How very small the very great are ! 

What mean these stale moralities, 

Sir Preacher, from your desk you mumble ? 

Why rail against the great and wise, 

And tire us with your ceaseless grumble ? 

Pray choose us out another text, 

O man morose and narrow-minded ! 
Come turn the page — I read the next, 

And then the next, and still I find it. 

Read here how Wealth aside was thrust, 

And Folly set in place exalted ; 
How Princes footed in the dust. 

While lackeys in the saddle vaulted. 

Though thrice a thousand years are past, 

Since David's son, the sad and splendid, 
The weary King Ecclesiast, 

Upon his awful tablets penned it, — 



196 VANITAS VAXITATUM. 

Methinks the text is never stale, 

And life is every day renewing 

Fresh comments on the old old tale 

Of Folly, Fortune, Glory, Ruin. 

Hark to the Preacher, preaching still ! 
• He lifts his voice and cries his sermon, 
Here at St. Peter's of Cornhill, 

As yonder on the Mount of Hermon : 

For you and me to heart to take 
(0 dear beloved brother readers) 

To-day, as when the good King spake 
Beneath the solemn Syrian cedars. 



Written between ft page by Jules Janin and a poem by the Turkish 

Ambassador, in Madame de R 's album, containing the autographs 

of kings, princes, poets, marshals, musicians, diplomatists, statesmen, 
artists, and men of letters of all nations. 




LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. 



WHAT MAKES MY HEART TO THRILL AND GLOW? 



TUB MAY FAIH LOVE 80NO. 



Winter and summer, night and morn, 
I languish, at this table dark ; 

My office window has a corn- 
er looks into St. James's Park. 

I hear the foot-guard's bugle horn, 
Their tramp upon parade I mark ; 

I am a gentleman forlorn, 
I am a Foreign Office Clerk. 



198 LOVE SOXGS MADE EAST. 

My toils, my pleasures, every one, 

I find are stale, and dull, and slow; 
And yesterday, when work was done, 

I felt myself so sad and low, 
I could have seized a sentry's gun 

My wearied brains out, out to blow. 
What is it makes my blood to run ? 

"What makes my heai-t to beat and glow ? 

My notes of hand are burnt, perhaps ? 

Some one has paid my tailor's bill ? 
No ; every morn the taUor raps ; 

My I O U's are extant still. 
I still am prey of debt and dun ; 

My elder brother's stout and well. 
WTiat is it makes my blood to run ? 

What makes my heart to glow and swell ? 

I know my chief's distrust and hate ; 

He says I'm lazy, and I shirk. 
Ah ! had I genius like the late 

Right Honorable Edmund Burke. 
My chance of all promotion's gone, 

I know it is, he hates me so. 
WTiat is it makes my blood to run. 

And all my heart to swell and glow ? 



LOVE S0XG3 MADE EAST. 199 

Why, why is all so bright and gay ? 

There is no change, there is no cause ; 
My office time I found to-day 

Disgusting as it ever was. 
At three, I went and tried the clubs, 

And yawned and sauntered to and fro ; 
And now my heart jumps up and throbs, 

And all my soul is in a glow. 

At half-past four I had the cab ; 
I drove as hard as I could go. 

The London sky was dirty drab, 
And dirty brown the London snow. 

And as I rattled in a cant- 
er down by dear old Bolton Row, 

A something made my heart to pant, 

And caused my cheek to flush and glow. 

What could it be that made me find 

Old Jawkins pleasant at the club ? 
Why was it that I laughed and grinned 

At whist, although I lost the rub ? 
AVhat was it made me drink like mad 

Thirteen small glasses of Curajo ? 
That made my inmost heart so glad. 

And every fibre thrill and glow ? 



•200 LOVE SONGS MADE EAST. 

She's home again ! she's home, she's home ! 

Away all cares, and griefs and pain ; 
I knew she would — she's back from Rome ; 

She's home again ! she's home again ! 
*' The faniily's gone abroad," they said, 

September last — they told me so ; 
Since then my lonely heart is dead. 

My blood I think's forgot to flow. 

She's home again ! away all care ! 

O. fairest form the world can show ! 
O, beaming eyes ! O, golden hair ! 

0, tender voice, that breathes so low ! 
O, gentlest, softest, purest heart ! 

0, joy, O, hope ! — " My tiger, ho ! " 
Fitz-Clarence said : we saw him start — 

He galloped down to Bolton Row. 



VOVt SONGS MADE EASV, 201 



COME TO TUK GRKEVWOOD TREE. 

Come to the green wrxxl tree. 
Come where the dark woo«^ls be. 
Dearest, O come with me ! 
LetiH rove — O my love — O ray love! 

Come — 't is tlie moonlight hour. 
Dew h on leaf and flower. 
Come to the linden bower, — 
Let us rove — O my love — O my love ! 

Dark is the wrxxl. and wide; 
Dangers, they say, betide ; 
But. at my Albert's side, 
Naught I fear, O my love — O my love! 

Welcome the greenwood tree, 
"Welcome the forest free. 
Dearest, with thee, with thee. 
Naught I fear. O my love — O my love! 



202 



LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. 













m 

]^'P '■ , ■', 



MY NORA. 

Beneath the gold acacia-buds 
My gentle Nora sits and broods, 
Far, far away in Boston woods. 
My gentle Nora! 

I see the tear-drop in her e'e. 
Her bosom 's heaving tenderly ; 
I know — I know she thinks of me, 
My darling Nora! 

And where am I ? My love, whilst thou 
Sitt 'st sad beneath the acacia bough, 
Where pearl 's on neck, and wreath on brow, 
I stand, my Nora ! 



LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. 203 

Mid carcanet and coronet. 
Where joy-himps sliine and flowers are set — 
Where England's chivalry an^ met. 
Behold Die, Nora! 

In this strnnofe scene of revelry. 
Amidst this gorgeous chivalry, 
A form I saw was like to thee, 

^ly love — my Nora? 

She paused amidst her converse glad ; 
The lady saw 1 hat I was sad. 
She pitied the poor lonely lad, 

Dost love her, Nora! 

In sooth, she is a lovely dame, 
A lip of red and eye of tlame. 
And clustering golden locks, the same 
As thine, dear Nora I 

Iler glance is softer than the dawn's. 
Her foot is lighter than the fawn's. 
Her breast is whiter than the swan's. 
Or thine, my Nora! 

O gentle breast to pity me! 
O lovely Ladye Emily! 
Till death — till death I '11 think of thee — 
Of thee and Noi"a ! 



iK^ LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. 



TO JtAKT. 



I SEEM, in the midst of tlio crowd. 

The lightest of all: 
My laughter rings clioer}* and loud. 

In banquet and ball. 
My lip hatJi its smiles and its snoors. 

For all men to see ; 
But my soul, and my trutli, and my toars. 

Are for thoe. are for thee ! 

Around me they flatter and fawn — 

The young and the old. 
The fairest are ready to pawn 

Their hearts for my gold. 
They sue me — I laugh as I spurn 

The slaves at my knee ; 
But in faith and in fondness I turn 

Unto thee, unto thee. 





'r<' 



LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. 207 



SERENADE. 

Now the toils of day are over. 
And the sun liath sunk to rest. 

Seeking, like a fiery lover. 

The bosom of the blushing west — 

The faithful night keeps watch and ward 
Raising the moon her silver shield. 

And summoning the stars to guard 
The slumbers of my fair Mathilde ! 

The faithful night! Now all things lie 
Hid i)j' her mantle dark and dim. 

In pious hope I hither hie. 

And humbly chant my evening hymn. 

Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine! 

(For never holy pilgrim kneel'd. 
Or wept at feet more pure than thine). 

My vh'gin love, my sweet Mathilde! 



LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. 209 



THE GHAZUL, OR ORIENTAL LOVE SONG. 
THE ROCKS. 

I WAS a timid little antelope ; 

My home was in the rocks, the lonely rocks. 

I saw the hunters scouring on the plain ; 
I lived among the rocks, the lonely rocks. 

I was a-thirsty, in the summer heat; 

I ventured to the tents beneath the rocks. 

Zuleikah brought me water from the well ; 
Since then I have been faithless to the rocks. 

I saw her face reflected in the well ; 

Her camels since have marched into the rocks. 

I looked to see her image in -the well ; 
I only see my eyes, my own sad eyes. 
My mother is alone among the rocks. 



210 



LOVE SONGS MADE EASY, 




THE MEKRY BARD. 



Zl'LEIKAhI The young Agas in the bazaar are sHm- 
waisted, and wear yellow slippers. I am old and hideous. 
One of my eyes is out, and the hairs of my head are 
mostly gray. Praise be to Allah! I am a merry bard. 

There is a bird upon the terrace of the Emir's chief 
wife. Praise be to Allah! He has emeralds on his neck, 
and a ruby tail. I am a men-y bard. He deafens me 
with his diabolical screaming. 

There is a little brown bird in the basket-maker's cage. 
Praise be to Allah! He ravishes my soul in the moon- 
light. I am a merry bard. 

The peacock is an Aga, but the little bird is a Bulbul. 

I am a little l)rown Bulbul. Come and listen in the 
moonlight. Praise be to Allah ! I am a merry bard. 



LOVE SONGS MA.DE EASY. 211 



THE CAIQUE. 

Voxi)i:r to the kiosk, beside the creek, 

I^addle the swift caiqve. 

Thou brawny oarsman with the sun-burnt cheek, 

Quick ! for it soothes my heart to hear the Bulbul speak ! 

Ferry me quickly to the Asian shores. 

Swift bending to your oars. 

Beneath tho melancholy sycamores. 

Hark I what a ravishing note the love-lorn Bulbul pours. 

Behold, the boughs seem quivering with delight. 

The stars themselves more bright. 

As 'mid the waving branches out of sight 

The Lover of the Rose sits singing through the night. 

Under the boughs I sat and listened still ; 
I could not have my fill. 

" How comes," I said, " such music to his bill ? 
Tell me for whom he sinjrs so beautiful a trill." 



LOVE SOXOS MAPE EAST. 213 

" Once I was dumb," then did the Bird disclose, 
" But looked upon the Rose ; 
And in the garden where the loved one grows, 
I straightway did begin sweet music to compose." 

" O bird of song, there's one in this caique 

The Rose would also seek. 

So he might learn like you to love and speak." 

Then answered me the bird of dusky beak, 

" The Rose, the Rose of Love, blushes on Leilah's cheek." 



211 LOVE SONGS MADE EASY, 



THE MIXARET BELLS. 

TiXK-A-TixK. tink-a-tink, 
By the light of tlie star. 

On the blufi rirer's brink, 
I heard a guitar. 

I lieard a guitar. 

On the blue waters clear. 
And knew by its musie, 

Tiiat Selim was near I 

Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink. 
How the soft music swells. 

And I hear the soft clink, 
Of the minaret bells! 



FIVE GE11MA>' DITTIES. 215 



FIVE GER.AIAX DITTIES. 



A TRAGIC STORY. 

BT ADELBERT VOX CHAMISSO. 
" '« war Einer, dem'e zu Herzen gieng." 

Thehe lived a sage in days of yore, 
And he a handsome pigtail wore ; 
But wondered much, and sorrowed more. 
Because it hung behind him. 

He mused upon this curious case, 

And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, 

And have it hanging at his face, 

Not dangling there behind him. 

Says he, " The mystery I've found ; 
I'll turn me round." He turned him round. 
But still it hung behind him. 



THE CHAPLET. 217 

Then round and round, and out and in. 
All day the puzzled sage did spin ; 
In vain — it mattered not a pin — 

The pigtail hung behind him. 

And right and left, and round about, 
And up and down, and in and out, 
He turned ; but still the pigtail stout 
Hung steadily behind him. 

And though his efforts never slack, 

And though he twist, and twirl, and tack 

Alas ! still faithful to his back, 

The pigtail hangs behind him. 



THE CHAPLET. 

FROM UHLAND. 
" Es pflUckte BlUmlein manigfalt." 

A xiTTLE girl through field and wood 
Went plucking flowerets here and there 

When suddenly beside her stood 
A ladv, wondrous fair. 



218 THE CHAPLET. 

The lovely lady sniiled, and laid 
A wreath upon the maiden's brow ; 

" Wear it, 'twill blossom soon," she said, 
" Although 'tis leafless now." 

The little maiden older grew, 

And wandered forth of moonlight eves. 

And sighed and loved, as maids vrill do ; 
When, lol her wreath bore leaves. 

Then was our maid a wife, and hung 
Upon a joyful bridegroom's bosom ; 

When from the garland's leaves there sprung 
Fair store of blossom. 

And presently a baby fair 

Upon her gentle breast she reared ; 

When 'midst the wreath that bound her hair, 
Rich golden fruit appeared. 

But when her love lay cold in death, 
Sunk in the black and silent tomb, 

All sere and withered was the wreath 
That wont so bright to bloom. 



220 THE KING ON THE TOWER. 

Yet still tlie withered wreatli she wore ; 

She wore it at her d}dng hour ; 
When, lo ! the wondrous garland bore 

Both leaf, and fruit, and flower ! 



THE KING ON THE TOWER. 



" Da liegen sie alle, die grauen Hdhen." 

The cold gray hills they bind me around 
The darksome valleys lie sleeping below, 

But the winds as they pass o'er all this ground 
Bring me never a sound of woe ! 

O ! for all I have suffered and striven. 
Care has imbittered my cup and my feast ; 

But here is the night and the dark blue heaven, 
And my soul shall be at rest. 

O golden legends writ in the skies ! 

I turn towards you with longing soul. 
And list to the awful harmonies 

Of the Spheres as on they roll. 



TO A VEKY OLD WOMAN. 

My bair is gray and my sight uigli gone ; 

My sword it rusteth upon the wall ; 
Right have I spoken, and right have I done : 

When shall I rest me once for all ? 

O blessed rest ! royal night ! 

Wherefore seemeth the time so long 
Till I see yon stiirs in their fullest light. 

And list to their loudest sons ? 



TO A VERY OLD WOMAN. 

L.\ MOTTE FOraUE. 
"Und Du giugst einst. die Myrt' im Hiiare." 

AxD thou wert once a maiden fair, 

A blushing virgin, warm and young. 
With myrtles wreathed in golden hair. 
And glossy brow that knew no care — 
Upon a bridegroom's arm you hung. 

The golden locks are silvered now, 

The blushing cheek is pale and wan; 



224 TO A VERY OLD "WOMAN. 

The spring may bloon,, the autumn glow, 
All's one — in chimney corner thou 
Sitt'st shivering on. 

A moment — and thou sink'st to rest ! 
To wake, perhaps an angel blest, 

In the bright presence of thy Lord 
O, weary is life's path to all ! 
Hard is the strife, and light .iie fall, 

But wondrous the reward ! 



A CREDO. 225 



A CREDO. 



** For the soul's edification 
Of this decent congregation, 
Worthy people ! by your grant, 
I will sing a holy chant, 

I will sing a holy chant. 
If the ditty sound but oddly, 
'T was a father, wise and godly, 
Sang it so long ago. 

Then sing as Doctor Luther sang. 

As Doctor Luther sang, 

Who loves not wine, woman, and song, 

He is a fool his whole life long. 

*' He, by custom patriarchal. 
Loved to see the beaker sparkle, 



o» 



226 A CR£IX1). 

Auii he thous:ht the wiue improved, 
T:i>ted by the wife he lovevl. 

By the kindly lips he loved. 
Friends ! I wish this custom pious. 
Duly were adopted by us. 
To combine love, song, and wine. 

And sing as Doctor Luther sang. 

As Doctor Luther sjing. 

Who loves not wine, woman, and -ong. 

He is a tool his whole lite long. 

** Who refuses this our creiio. 
And demurs to drink as we do, 
Were he holy as John Knox, 
I "d pronounce him hetertnlox, 

I 'd pronounce him heterodox. 
And from out this congregation, 
With a solemn oi^mmination. 
Banish quick the heretic. 

Who would not sing as Luther sang. 

As Doctor Luther sang. 

Who loves not wine, woman, and song. 

He is a fool his whole life lone" 



FOt'E IMITATIOXH OF BEKA5CEB.. 



227 





^i 






FOUR LMITATIOXS OF BERAXGEft. 

I.E KOI D'rA'ETOT. 



Il etait un roi d'Yvetot, 

Pea con nil dins rhistoire; 
Se levant tard. se conchant tot 
Dormant fort bien sans gloire, 
Et couronne par Jeanneton 
D'an simple bonnet de cotton. 
Dit-on. 
Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! 
Quel bon petit roi c"etait la! 
La, la. 



228 FOUR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER. 

II fesait ses quatre repas 

Dans son palais de chaume, 
Et sur un iine, pas a pas, 

Parcourait son I'oyaume. 
Joyeux, simple et croj-ant le bien, 
Pour toute garde il n'avait rien 
Qu'un chien. 
Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. 

II n'avait de goiU oncrenx 
Qu'une self un pen vive; 
Mais, en rendant son peui^le heureux, 

II faut bien qu'un roi vive. 
Lui-meme a table, et sans suppot, 
Sur chaque niuid levait un pot 
D'impot. 
Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. 

Aux filles de bonnes maisons 

Comme il avait su plaire, 
Ses sujets avaient cent raisons 

De le nommer leur pere ; 

D'ailleurs il ne levait de ban 

Que pour tirer quatre fois Tan 

Au blanc. 

Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. 



FOCR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER. 220 

II n'agrnndit point ses etats, 

Fut un voisin commode, 
Et, modele des potentats, 

Pi'it le plaisir pour code. 
De n'est que lorsqu'il expira, 
Que le peuple qui Tenterra 
Pleura. 
Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah* &c. 

On conserve encor le portrait 
De ce digne et bon prince ; 
C'est Tenseigne d'un cabaret 
Fameux dans la province. 
Les jours de fete, bien souvent. 
La foule s'e'crie en buvant 
Devant : 
Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. 



230 



XUi: KINO OF YVKTOT. 




THE KING OF YVETOT. 



There was a king; of Yvotot. 

Of whom renown liath little said. 
Who let all thoughts of jrlory go. 

And dawdled half his days abed; 
And every nifrht, as night came round. 
By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned. 
Slept very sound : 
Sing ho. ho. ho! and lie. he. he! 
That's the kind of kin<r for me. 



THE KINO OF YVETOT. 231 

And every day it came to pass. 

That four lusty meals mrwle he; 
And st^'p by step, ujxm an ass, 

R^>de abroad, his realms to see ; 
And whf.-rever he did stir. 
What tliink you was liis escort, sir? 
Why, an old cur. 
Sing ho, lio, Ijo I &<:. 

If e'er he went into excess, 

Twaa from a somewhat lively thirst; 
But he who would his stibjects bless. 

Odd's fish! — must wet his whistle first; 
And so from every cask they got. 
Our king did tfj himself allot 
At least a pot. 
Sing ho, ho, &c. 

To all the la/lies of the land, 

A courteous king, and kind, was he — 
The reason why, you'll understand, 

Thiey named him Pater Patriae. 
Each year he called his fighting men. 
And marched a league from home, and then 
Marched back again. 
Sing ho, ho, &c. 



232 THE KING OF YVETOT. 

Neither by force nor foise pretence. 

He sought to make his kingdom great, 
And made (O princes, learn from hence) - 

" Live and let live," his rule of state. 
'Twas only when he came to die, 
That his people who stood by. 

Were known to cry. 
Sing ho, ho ! &c. 

The portrait of this best of kings 

Is extant still, upon a sign 
That on a village tavern swings. 

Famed in the country for good wine. 
The people in their Sunday trim, 
Filling their glasses to the brim. 
Look up to him, 
Singing ha, ha, ha ! and he, he, he ! 
That's the sort of kinff for me. 



THE KING OF BRENTFORD. 233 



THE KING OF BRENTFORD. 

ANOTHEU VERSION. 

There was a king in Brentford, of whom no legends tell. 
But who, without his glory, could eat and sleep right well. 
His Tolly's cotton nightcap, it was his crown of state. 
He slept of evenings early and rose of mornings late. 

All in a fine mud palace, each day he took four meals. 
And for a- guard of honor a dog ran at his heels. 
Sometimes, to view his kingdoms, rode forth this monarch 

good. 
And then a prancing jackass he royally bestrode. 

There were no costly habits, with which this king was 

curst. 
Except, (and where's the harm on 't ?) a somewhat lively 

thirst; 
But people must pay taxes and kings must have their sport. 
So out of every gallon, his Grace he took a quart. 



234 THE KING OF BRENTFORD. 

He pleased the ladies round him with manners soft and 

bland ; 
With reason good, they named him the father of his land. 
Each year his mighty armies marched forth in gallant 

show; 
Their enemies were targets, their bullets they were tow. 

He vexed no quiet neighbor, no useless conquest made. 
But by the laws of pleasure, his peaceful realm he swayed. 
And in the years he reigned, through all this country wide. 
There was no cause for weeping, save when the good man 
died. 

The faithful men of Brentford do still their king deplore. 
His portrait yet is swinging beside an alehouse door. 
And topers, tender-hearted, regard his honest phiz. 
And envy times departed, that knew a reign like his. 



236 LE GRENIER. 



LE GRENIED. 



Je viens revoir Tasile on ma jeunesse 
De la misere a subi les lemons. 
J'avais vingt ans, une folle maitresse, 
De francs amis et Famour des chansons. 
Bravant le monde et les sot? et les sages. 
Sans avenir, rLche de mon printemps, 
Leste et joyeux je raontais six etages. 
Dans un gi-enier qu'on est bien a vingt ans! 

C'est un grenier, point ne veiix qu'on I'ignore. 
Lfi fnt mon lit, bien chetif et bien dur ; 
Lh flit ma table; et je retrouvc encore 
Trois pieds d'un vers charbonnes sur le mur. 
Apparaissez, plaisirs de mon bel age, 
Que d'un coup d'aile a fnstiges le temps : 
Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage. 
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans! 



LE GRliNIER. 237 

Lisette ici doit surtout apparaitre, 
Vive, jolie, avec un frais cliapeau ; 
Deja sa main a Tetroite fenetre 
Suspend son sclial, en guise de rideau. 
Sa robe aussi va parer ma concliette ; 
Kespecto, Amour, sos plis longs et flottans. 
J' ai su depuis qui pa^ait sa toilette. 
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans! 

A table un jour, jour de grande richesse, 
De mes amis les voix brillaient en choeur, 
Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'allegresse ; 
A Marengo Bonaparte est vainqueur. 
Le canon gronde; un autre chant commence ; 
Nous celebrons tant de fiiits eclatans. 
Les rois jamais n'envahiront la France. 
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans! 

Quittons ce toit oil ma raison s'enivre, 
Oh! quMls sont loin ces jours si regi-ettes! 
J'echangerais ce qu'il me reste a vivre 
Contre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a comptes, 
Pour I'Kver gloire, amour, plaisir, folie, 
Pour depenser sa vie en peu d'instans, 
D'un long espoir pour la voir embellie. 
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans! 



238 



THE GARRET. 




THE GARRET. 



With pensive eyes the little room I view, 

Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long; 
With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two. 

And a light heart still breaking into song : 
Making a mock of life, and all its cares. 

Rich in the glory of my rising sun. 
Lightly I vaulted up four pair of staii-s. 

In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 



THE GARRET. 239 

Yes ; 't is a garret, let him know 't who will, 

There was my bed, full hard it was and small ; 
My table there, and I decipher still 

Haifa lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. 
Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, 

Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun ; 
For yon I pawned my watch how many a day, 

In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 

And see my little Jessy, first of all ; 

She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes : 
Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl 

Across the narrow casement, curtain-Avise ; 
Now by the bed her petticoat glides down. 

And when did woman look the worse in none? 
I have heard since who paid for many a gown, 

In the brave days when I Avas twenty-one. 

One jolly evening, when my friends and I 

Made happy music with our songs and cheers, 
A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, 

And distant cannon opened on our ears ; 
We rise, we join in the triumphant strain. 

Napoleon conquers, Austerlitz is won ; 
Tyrants shall never tread us down again. 

In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 



240 THE GARRET. 

Let us begone, the place is sad and strange, 

How far, far oft", these happy times appear; 
All that I liave to live I Vl gladly change 

For one such month as I have wasted here, 
To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and liower. 

From founts of hope that never will outrun, 
And drink all life's quintessence in an hour, 

Give me the days when I was twenty-one! 



EOGER-BONTKMPS. 



341 




ROGER-BOXTEMPS. 



Aux gens atrabilaires 
Pour exemple donne. 
En un temps de misei'es 
Roger-Bontemps est ne. 
Vivre obscur a sa guise, 
Narguer les me'contens ; 
Eh gai ! c'est la devise 
Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 



242 ROGER-BONTEMPS. 

Du chapeau de son pere 
Coiflfe dans les grands jours, 
De roses ou de lierre 
Le rajeunir toujonrs ; 
Mettre un manteau de bure, 
Vieil ami de vingt ans ; 
Eh gai ! c'est la parure 
Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

Posseder dans sa hutte 
Une table, un vieux lit, 
Des cartes, une flute, 
Un broc que Dieu remplit; 
Un portrait de maitresse, 
Un coffl-e et rien dedans ; 
Eh gai ! c'est la richesse 
Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

Aux enfans de la ville 
Montrer de petits jeux; 
Etre fesseur habile 
De contes gi-aveleux ; 
Ne parler que de danse 
Et d'almanachs chantans : 
Eh gai ! c'est la science 
Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 



ROGER-BONTEMPS. 243 

Finite de vins rVelite, 
Sabler ceux du canton : 
Prefcrer Marguerite 
Aux dames du grand ton : 
De joie et de tendresse 
Remplir tons ses instans : 
Eh gai ! e'est le sagesse 
Du gros Roger-Bonteraps. 

Dire an ciel : Je me fie, 
Mon pcre, a ta bonte ; 
De ma philosophie 
Pardonne le gaite : 
Que ma saison derniere 
Sois encore un printemps; 
Eh gai ! c'est la priere 
Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

Vous pauvres pleins d'envie, 
Yous riches desireux, 
Vous, dont le char devie 
Apres un cours heureux ; 
Vous, qui perdrez peut-etre 
Des titres eclatans, 
Eh gai ! prenez pour maitre 
Le gi-os Roger-Bontemps. 



244 



JOLLY JACK. 







JOLLY JACK. 



When fierce political debate 

Throughout the isle Avas storming, 
And Rads attacked the throne and state. 

And Tories the reforming. 
To calm tlie furious rage of each, 

And right the land demented. 
Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach 

The way to be contented. 



JOLLY JACK. 246 

Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft. 

His cliair, a three-legged stool ; 
His broken jug was emptied oft. 

Yet, somehow, alwa3's full. 
His mistress' portrait decked the wall. 

His mirror had a crack ; 
Yet, gay and glad, though this was all 

His wealth, lived Jolly Jack. 

To give advice to avarice. 

Teach pride its mean condition. 
And preach good sense to dull pretence. 

Was honest Jack's high mission. 
Our simple statesman found his rule 

Of moral in the flagon. 
And held his philosophic school 

Beneath the George and Dragon. 

When village Solons cursed the Lords, 

And called the malt-tax sinful. 
Jack heeded not their angiy words, * 

But smiled and di-ank his skinful. 
And when men wasted health and life 

In search of rank and riches. 
Jack marked aloof the paltry strife. 

And wore his threadbare breeches. 



246 JOLLY JACK. 

" I enter not the church," lie said, 

" But T'U not seek to rob it ; " 
So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, 

While others studied Cobbett. 
His talk it was of feast and fun ; 

His guide the Almanack ; 
From youth to age thus gaily ran 

The life of Jolly Jack. 

And when Jack prayed, as oft he would. 

He humbly thanked his Maker ; 
"I am," said he, "O Father good; 

Nor Catholic nor Quaker: 
Give each his creed, let each proclaim 

His catalogue of curses ; 
I trust in Thee and not in them. 

In Thee and in Thy mercies ! 

*' Forgive me if, midst all Thy works, 

No hint I see of damning; 
And think there 's faith among the Turks, 

And hope for e'en the Brahmin. 
Harmless my mind is, and my mirth. 

And kindly is my laughter; 
I cannot see the smiling earth. 

And think there 's hell hereafter." 



JOLLY JACK. 24i 



Jack died ; he left no legacy. 

Save that his stoiy teaches : — 
Content to peevish poverty ; 

Humility to riches. 
Ye scornful great, ye envious small, 

Come follow in his track ; 
We all were happier, if we all 

Would copy Jolly Jack, 



24.8 " IMITATION OF HORACB. 



IMITATION OF HOHACK 



TO HIS SERVING BOY. 

Persicos odi, 
Puer, apparatus ; 
Displicent nexae 
Philyra coronae : 
Mitte sectari 
Rosa quo Iocoiuil. 
Sera inoretur. 

Simplici myrto 
Nihil allabores 
Sedulus cura : 
Neque te ministriira 
Dedecet myrtus, 
Neque me sub arcla 
Vite bibentem. 



260 IMITAIIOX OF HOEACE. 



AD MINISTRAM. 

Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is. 

I hate all your Frenchified fuss : 
Your silly entrees and made dishes 

Were never intended for us. 
No footman in lace and in ruffles 

Need dangle behind my arm chair ; 
And never mind seeking for truffles, 

Although they be ever so rare. 

But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy, 

I prithee get ready at three ; 
Have it smoking, and tender, and juicy. 

And what better meat can there be ? 
And when it has feasted the master, 

'Twill amply suffice for the maid ; 
Meanwhile I Tvill smoke my canaster, 

And tipple my ale in the shade. 



OLU FRIENDS Wiril NEW FACES. 251 



OLD FRIENDS WITH XEW FACES. 



THE KNIGHTLY GUERDON. 

Untrue to my Ulric I never could be, 

I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie. 

Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shorCj 

A.nd your dark galley waited to carry you o'er, 

* * 'Wappino Old Stairs. 
" Your Molly has never been false, she declares, 
Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs ; 
When I said that I would continue the same, 
And gave you the 'bacca-box marked with my name. 
When I passed a fortnight between decks with you, 
Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew ? 
To be useful and kind to my Thomas, I staid, 
For his trowsers I washed, and his grog too I made. 

" Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall 
With Susan from Deptford and likewise with Sail, 



252 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. 

My faith then I plighted, my love I confessed, 

As I gave you the battle-axe marked with your crest 

When the bold barons met in my father's old hall, 
Was not Edith the flower of the banquet and ball ? 
In the festival hour, on the lips of your bride. 
Was there ever a smile save with thee at my side ? 
Alone in my turret I loved to sit best, 
To blazon your banner and broider your crest. 



The knights were assembled, the tourney was gay ! 
Sir Ulric rode first in the warrior melee. 
In the dire battle-hour, when the tourney was done, 
And you gave to another the wreath you had won ! 
Though I never reproached thee, cold, cold was my breast, 
As I thought of that battle-axe, ah ! and that crest ! 

But away with remembrance, no more will I pine 
That others usurped for a time what was mine ! 



In silence I stood your unkindness to hear, 

And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. 

Why should Sail, or should Susan, than me be more prized ? 

For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be despised ; 

Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake ; 

Still your trowsers I'll wash, and your grog too I'll make." 



THE almack's adieu. 263 

There's a Festival hour for my Ulric and me ; 
Once more, as of old, shall he bend at my knee ; 
Once more by the side of the knight I love best 
Shall I blazon his banner and broider his crest. 



THE ALMACK'S ADIEU. 

Your Fanny was never false-hearted, 

And this she protests and she vows. 
From the triste moment when we parted 

On the staircase of Devonshire House ! 
I blushed when you asked me to marry, 

I vowed I would never forget ; 
And at parting I gave my dear Harry 

A beautiful vinegarette ! 

We spent en province all December, 

And I ne'er condescended to look 
At Sir Charles, or the rich county member, 

Or even at that darling old Duke. 
You were busy with dogs and -with horses, 

Alone in my chamber I sat. 
And made you the nicest oF purses, 

And the smartest black satin cravat ! 



254 THE axmack's adieu. 

At niglit with that vile Lady Frances 

(Jie faisois moi tapisserie) 
You danced every one of the dances, 

And never once thought of poor me ! 
Mon pawvre petit cceur ! what a shiver 

I felt as she danced the last set, 
And you gave, O, mon Dieu ! to revive her, 

My beautiful vinegarette ! 

Return, love ! away with coquetting ; 

This flii'ting disgraces a man ! 
And ah ! all the while you're forgetting 

The heart of your poor little Pan ! 
Reviens ! break away from those Circes, 

Reviens, for a nice little chat ; 
And I've made you the sweetest of purs3s. 

And a lovely black satin cravat ! 



WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. 



255 




WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. 
— • — 
When the moonlight's on the mountain 

And the gloom is on the glen. 
At the cross beside the fountain. 

There is one will meet me then. 
At the cross beside the fountain ; 
Yes, the cross beside the fountain; 
There is one will meet me then! 



256 WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. 

I have braved, since first Tve met, love. 

Many a danger in my course ; 
But I never can forget, love. 

That dear fountain, that old cross, 
Where, her mantle shrouded o'er her — 

For the winds were chilly then — 
First I met my Leonora, 

When the gloom was on the glen. 

INfany a clime I 've ranged since then, love, 

i\rany a land I 've wandered o'er; 
But a valley like that glen, love, 

Half so dear I never sor! 
Ne'er saw maiden fairer, coyer. 

Than Avert thou, my true love, when 
In the gloaming first I saw yer. 

In the gloaming of the glen. 



THE RED FLAG. 



257 




THE RED FLAG. 



Where the quivering lightning flings 
His aiTows from out the clouds, 

And the howling tempest sings 
And whistles among the shrouds, 



258 ■ THE RED FLAG. 

'T is pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride 
Along the foaming brine — 

Wilt be the Rover's bride? 
Wilt follow him, lady mine ? 

Hurrah ! 
For the bonny, bonny brine. 

Amidst the storm and rack. 

You shall see our galley pass. 
As a serpent lithe and black. 

Glides through the waving grass. 
As the vulture swift and dark, 

Down on the ring-dove flies. 
You shall see the Rover's bark 

Swoop down upon his prize. 
Hurrah ! 

For the bonny, bonny jDrize. 

Over her sides we dash, 

We gallop across her deck — 
Ha ! there 's a ghastly gash 

On the merchant captain's neck — 
Well shot, Avell shot, old Ned ! 

Well struck, Avell struck, black James, 
Our arms are red, and our foes are dead. 

And we leave a ship in flames ! 
Hurrah ! 

For the bonny, bonny flames ! 



COMXLVXDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. 259 



COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. 



The Pope he is a happy man. 

His Palace is the Vatican, 

And there lie sits and drains his can. 

The Pope he is a happy man. 

I often say "Nvhen I 'm at home, 

I 'd like to be the Pope of Rome. 

And then there 's Sultan Saladin, 
That Turkish Soldan full of sin; 
He has a hundred wives at least. 
By which his pleasure is increased : 
I 've often wished. I hope no sin, 
That I were Sultan Saladin. 

But no, the Pope no wife may choose. 
And so I would not wear his shoes ; 
No wine may drink the proud Paynim, 
And so I 'd rather not be him : 
My wife, my wine, I love, I hope. 
And would be neither Turk nor Pope. 



260 DEAR JACK. 



DEAR JACK. 



Dear Jack, this white mug that Avith Guinness I fill, 
And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill, 
Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot 
As e'er drew a spigot, or drained a full pot. 
In drinking all round 't was his joy to surpass. 
And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his glass. 

One morning in summer, while seated so snug, 
In the porch of his garden, discussing his jug. 
Stern Death, on a sudden, to Tom did appear. 
And said, " Honest Thomas, come take your last bier." 
We kneaded his clay in the shape of this can. 
From which let us drink to the health of my Nan. 



262 



WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. 




WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. 



When moonlike ore the haznre seas 

In soft effulgence swells. 
When silver jews and balmy breaze 

Bend down the Lily's bells ; 
When calm and deap, the rosy sleap 

Has lapt your soal in dreems, 
R Hangeline ! R lady mine ! 

Dost thou remember Jeames ? 



WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE IIAZURE SEAS. 263 

I m.ark tliee in the JNIarble All, 

Where England's loveliest shine — 
I say the fairest of them hall 

Is Lady Hangeline. 
My soul, in desolate eclipse, 

With recollection teems — 
And then I hask, with weeping lips. 

Dost thou remember Joames? 

Away ! I may not tell thee hall 

This soughring heart endures — 
There is a lonely sperrit-call 

That Sorrow never cures ; 
There is a little, little Star, 

That still above me beams ; 
It is the Star of Hope — but ar ! 

Dost thou remember Jeames? 



264: KING CANUTE. 



KING CANUTE. 



King Canute was weary-hearted; he had reigned for 
years a score ; 

Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and 
robbing more, 

And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea- 
shore. 



'Twixt the chancellor and bishop walked the king with 

steps sedate, 
Chamberlains and grooms came after, silver sticks and 

gold sticks great. 
Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, — all the officers of 

state. 



KING CANUTE. 265 

Sliding after, like his shadow, pausing when he chose to 

pause ; 
If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers 

dropped their jaws ; 
If to laugh the king was minded, out they burst in loud 

hee-haws. 

But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old 

and young. 
Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favorite 

gleeman sung, 
Once the queen would have consoled him, but he bade her 

hold her tongue. 

" Something ails my gracious master," cried the keeper of 

the seal ; 
" Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served at dinner, or the 

veal ! " 
" Psha ! " exclaimed the angry monarch, " Keeper, 't is not 

that I feel. 

" 'T is the heart and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest 

impair ; 
Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no 

care? 
O, I 'm sick, and tired, and weary." — Some one cried, 

" The king's arm-chair ! " 



266 KING CANUTE. 

Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my lord the 

keeper nodded, 
Straight the king's great chair was brought him, by two 

footmen able-bodied, 
Languidly he sank into it : it was comfortably wadded. 

" Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, " over storm 

and brine, 
I have fought and I have conquered ! Where was glory 

like to mine ! " 
Loudly all the courtiers echoed, " Where is glory like to 

thine?" 

*' What avail me all my kingdoms ? Weary am I now 

and old. 
Those fair sons I have begotten long to see me dead and 

cold ; 
Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent' 

mould ! 

" remorse, the writhing serpent ! at my bosom tears and 

bites : 
Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all the 

lights ; 
Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed of 

nights. 



KING CANUTE. 267 

" Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious 

fires; 
Mothers weeping, virgins screaming, vainly for their 

slaughtered sires — " 
— " Such a tender conscience," cries the bishop, " every 

one admires." 

" But for such unpleasant by-gones, cease, my gracious lord, 

to search, 
Tliey 're forgotten and forgiven by our holy IMother 

Church ; 
Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch. 

" Look ! the land is crowned with minsters, which your 

Grace's bounty raised ; 
Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and heaven are 

daily praised ; 
Foil, my lord, to think of dying ? on my conscience, I 'm 

amazed ! " 

'•"Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, "that my end is draw- 
ing near " ; 

" Don't say so," exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to 
squeeze a tear), 

'* Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this 
fifty year." 



268 KING CANUTE. 

** Live these fifty years ! " the bishop roared, with actions 

made to suit, 
" Are you mad, my good lord keeper, thus to speak of 

King Canute! 
Men have hved a thousand years, and sure his IMajesty 

will do 't. 

" Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Canan, Mahaleel, Methusela, 
Lived nine hundred years apiece, and may n't the king as 

well as they ? " 
" Fervently," exclaimed the keeper, " fervently, I trust he 

may." 

" He to die ? " resumed the bishop. " He a mortal like to 

MS? 

Death was not for him intended, though communis omni- 
bus; 
Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus. 

" With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can 

compete, 
Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon 

their feet ; 
Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think 

it meet. 



KING CANUTE. 269 

" Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the 

hill, 
And, tlie while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon 

stand still? 
So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred 

will." 

" Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop ? " Ca- 
nute cried ; 

" Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly 
ride? 

If the moon obeys ray orders, sure I can command the 
tide. 

" Will the advancing waves obey me, bishop, if I make 

the sign ? " 
Said the bishop, bowing lowly, " Land and sea, my lord, 

are thine." 
Canute turned towards the ocean, — *' Back ! " he said, 

" thou foaming brine. 

" From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to 

retreat ; 
Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's 

seat ; 
Ocean, be thou still ! I bid thee come not nearer to my 

feet ! " 



270 KING CANUTE, 

But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar, 
And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the 

sliore ; 
Back the keeper and the bishop, back the king and cour- 
tiers bore. 

And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human 

clay, 
But alone to praise and worship that which earth and seas 

obey; 
And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that 

day. 
King Canute is dead and gone: parasites exist aUvav 



FRIAR S SONG. 



FRIAR'S SONG. 



Some love the matin-chimes, which tell 

The hour of j^rayer to sinner. 
But better far's the midilay bell 

Which speaks the liour of ilhuier; 
For when I see a smoking tish. 

Or capon drown'il in gravy. 
Or noble haunch on silver disii, 

Full glad I sing my ave. 

My pulpit is an alehouse bench. 

Whereon I sit so jolly ; 
A smiling, rosj' country wench 

IMy saint and patron lioly. 
I kiss her cheek so red and sleek, 

I press her ringlets wavy. 
And in her Avilling ear I speak 

A most religious ave. 

And if I 'm blind, yet heaven is kind, 

And holy saints foi-giving; 
For sure he leads a right good life 

Who thus admires good living. 
Above, they say, our flesh is air. 

Our blood celestial ichor ; 
Oh. grant I mid all the changes there, 

They may not change our liquor. 



ATRA CUBA. 



273 










ATRA CUKA. 



Before I lost my live poor wits, 

I mind me of a Romish clerk. 

Who sang how Care, the phantom dark. 

Beside the belted horseman sits. 

Methonght I saw the grisly sprite 

Jump up but now behind my Knight. 



274 ATRA CURA. 

And though he gallop as he may, 
I mark that cursed monster black 
Still sits behind his honor's back, 
Tight squeezing of his heart ahvaj'. 
Like two black Templars sit thej- there, 
Beside one crupper, Knight and Care. 

No knight am I with pennoned spear. 
To jjrance upon a bold destrere ; 
• I will not have black Care prevail 

Upon my long-eared charger's tail. 
For lo, I am a witless fool. 
And laugh at Grief and ride a mule. 



REQUIESCAT. 



275 




REQUIESCAT. 



Ukder the stone jou behold, 
Buried, and coffined, and cold, 
Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. 

Always he marched in advance, 
Warring in Flanders and France, 
Doughty with sword and with lance. 



276 REQUIESCAT. 

Famous in Saracen fight, 

Rode in his youth the good knight, 

Scattering Paynims in flight. 

Brian the Templar untrue, 
Fairly in tourney he slew. 
Saw Hierusalem too. 

Now he is buried and gone, 
Lying beneath the gray stone : 
Where shall you find such a one ? 

Long time his widow deplored. 
Weeping the fate of her lord. 
Sadly cut off" by the sword. 

When she was eased of her pain 
Came the good Lord Athelstane, 
When her ladyship married again. 



THE WILLOW-TREE. 277 



THE WILLOW-TREE. 



Know ye the willow tree 

Whose gray leaves quiver, 
Whispering gloomily 

To yon pale river ; 
Lady, at even-tide 

Wander not near it , 
They say its branches hide 

A sad, lost spirit! 

Once to the willow-tree 

A maid came fearful, 
Pale seemed her cheek to be. 

Her blue eyes tearful ; 
Soon as she saw the tree. 

Her step moved fleeter, 
No one was there — ah me! 

No one to meet her ! 



278 THE WILLOW-TREE. 

Quick beat her heart to hear 

The far belFs chime 
Toll from the chapel-tower 

The trTSting: time: 
But the red sun went down 

In golden tlame, 
And though she looked round. 

Yet no one came ! 

Presently came the night, 

Sadl}- to gi-eet her, — 
Moon in her silver light. 

Stars in their glitter ; 
Then sank the moon away 

Under the billow. 
Still wept the maid alone — 

There by the willow, ! 

Through the long darkness 

By the stream rolling. 
Hour after hour went on 

Tolling and tolling. 
Long was the darkness. 

Lonely and stillj- ; 
Shrill came the night-wind, 

Piercing and chilly. 



280 THE WILLOW-TREE. 

Shrill blew the morning breeze, 

Biting and cold, 
Bleak peers the gray dawn 

Over the wold. 
Bleak over moor and stream. 

Looks the gray dawn. 
Gray, with dishevelled hair. 
Still stands the willow there — 

THE MAID IS gone! 

Domine, Domine! 
Sing we a litany, — 

Sing for j)oor maiden-hearts broken and weary . 
Domine, Domine ! 
Sing ice a litany. 

Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere ! 



THE WILLOW-TREE. 



(another version.) 

I. 

Long by the willow-trees 
Vainly they sought her, 

Wild rang the niotlier's screams 
O'er the gray water : 

"Where is my lovely one? 
Where is my daughter? 

II. 

*' Rouse thee, sir constable — 

Rouse thee and look ; 
Fisherman, bring your net. 

Boatman, your hook. 
Beat in the lily-beds. 

Dive in the brook! " 

III. 

Vainly the constable 
Shouted and called her; 

Vainly the fisherman 
Beat the green alder. 

Vainly he flung the net. 
Never it hauled her! 



■281 



282 THE WILLOW-TREE. 

IV. 

Mother beside the fire 
Sat, her nightcap in ; 

Father, in easy-chair, 
Gloomily napping. 

When at the window-sill 
Came a light tapping! 

V. 

And a pale countenance 

Looked through the casement. 
Loud beat the mother's heart, 

Sick with amazement, 
And at the vision which 

Came to surprise her, 
Shrieked in an agony — - 

"Lor! it's Elizar!" 

VI. 

Yes, 'twas Elizabeth — 

Yes, 'twas their girl ; 
Pale was her cheek, and her 

Hair out of curl. 
" Mother! " the loving one, 

Blushing, exclaimed, 
" Let not your innocent 

Lizzy be blamed. 



THE WILLOW-TREE. 283 

VII. 

" Yesterday, going to aunt 

Jones's to tea, 
Mothei", deal' mothei*, I 

Forgot the door-key ! 
And as the night was cold. 

And the way steep. 
Mrs. Jones kept me to 

Breakfast and sleep. " 

VIII. 

Whether her Pa and Ma 

Fully believed her. 
That we shall never know, 

Stern they received her; 
And for the work of that 

Cruel, though short, night, 
Sent her to bed without 

Tea for a fortnight. 

IX. 

MORAL. 

Hey diddle diddlety. 

Cat and the Fiddlety, 
Maidens of England, take caution by she! 

Let love and suicide 

Never tempt you aside. 
And always remember to take the door-key. 



284 LYRA HIBERMCA. 



LYRA HiBERXICA. 



THE POEMS OF THE MOLONT OF KII.BALLTMOLONT. 



THE PIMLICO PAVILION. 

Ye pathrons of janius, Minerva, and Vanius, 
Wlio sit on Parnassus, that mountain of snow, 

Descind from your station and make observation 
Of the Prince's pavilion in sweet Pimlico. 

This garden, by jakurs, is forty poor acres, 

(The garner he tould me, and sure ought to know ;) 

And yet greatly bigger, in size and in figure, 
Than the Phanix itself, seems the Park Pimlico. 



THE PIMLICO PAVILION. 285 

O 'tis there that the spoort is, when the Queen and the 
Court is 

Walking magnanimous all of a row, 
Forgetful what state is among the pataties 

And the pine-apple gardens of sweet Pimlico. 

There in blossoms odo'rous the birds sing a chorus. 
Of " God save the Queen " as they hop to and fro ; 

And you sit on the binches and hark to the finches, 
Singing melodious in sweet Pimlico. 

There shuiting their phanthasies, they pluck polyanthuses 
That round in the gardens resplindently grow, 

VVid roses and jessimins, and other sweet specimins, 
Would charm bould Linnayus in sweet Pimlico. 

You see when you inther, and stand in the cinther. 
Where the roses, and nectums, and collyflowers blow, 

A hill so tremindous, it tops the top-windows 
Of the elegant houses of famed Pimlico. 

And when you've ascinded that precipice splindid, 
You see on its summit a wondtherful show — 

A lovely Swish building, all painting and gilding. 
The famous Pavilion of sweet Pimlico. 



286 THE PIMLICO PAVILION. 

Prince Albert, of Flandthers, that Prince of Commandthers, 
(On whom my best blessings hereby I bestow,) 

With goold and vermilion has decked that Pavilion, 
Where the Queen may take tay in her sweet Pimlico. 

There's lines from John Milton the chamber all gilt on. 
And pictures beneath them that's shaped like a bow; 

I was greatly astounded to think that that Roundhead 
Should find an admission to famed Pimlico. 

lovely's each fresco, and most picturesque O, 
And while round the chamber astonished I go, 

1 think Dan Maclise's it baits all the pieces, 

Surrounding the cottage of famed Pimlico. 

Eastlake has the chimney, (a good one to limn he,) 
And a vargin he paints with a sarpent below ; 

While bulls, pigs, and panthers, and other enchanthers. 
Is painted by Landseer in sweet Pimlico. 

And nature smiles opposite, Stanfield he copies it ; 

O'er Claude or Poussang sure 'tis he that may crow : 
But Sir Ross's best faiture, is small mini-ature — 

He shouldn't paint frescoes in famed Pimlico. 



THE PIMLICO PAVILION. 287 

There's Leslie and Uwins has rather small doings ; 

There's Dice, as brave masther as England can show ; 
And the flowers and the sthrawberries, sure he no dauber is. 

That painted the panels of famed Pimlico ! 

In the pictures from Walther Scott, never a fault there's got. 
Sure the marble's as natural as thrue Scaglio ; 

And the Chamber Pompayen is sweet to take tay in, 
And ait butther'd muffins in sweet Pimlico. 

There's landscapes by Gruner, both solar and lunar. 
Them two little Doyles, too, deserve a bravo ; 

Wid de piece by young Townsend (for janius abounds in't ;) 
And that's why he's shuited to paint Pimlico. 

That picture of Severn's is worthy of rever'nce, 
But some I won't mintion is rather so so ; 

For sweet philoso'phy, or crumpets and coffee, 
O Where's a Pavilion like sweet Pimlico ? 

O to praise this Pavilion would puzzle Quintilian, 
Daymosthenes, Brougham, or young Cicero ; 

So heavenly Goddess, d'ye pardon my modesty. 
And silence my lyre ! about sweet Pimlico. 



288 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACK 



With janial foire 

Thransfuse me loyre, 
Ye sacred nympths of Pindus, 

The whoile I sing 
That wondthrous thing. 

The Palace made o' windows ! 

Say, Paxton, truth, 

Thou wondthrous youth, 
What sthroke of art celistial. 

What power was lint 

You to invint 
This combineetion cristial^ 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. .989 

O would before 

That Thomas Moore, 
Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, 

Thim aigles sthrong 

Of godlike song 
Cast oi on that cast oiron ! 

And saw thim walls, 

And glittering halls, 
Thim rising slendther columns. 

Which I, poor pote. 

Could not denote. 
No, not in twint^ vollums. 

My Muse's words 

Is like the birds 
That roosts beneath the panes there ; 

Her wings she spoils 

'Gainst them bright tiles, 
And cracks her silly brains there. 

This Palace tall, 

This Cristial Hall, 
Which Imperors might covet. 

Stands in High Park, 

Like Noah's Ark, 
A rainbow bint above it. 



290 TH^ CK1ESTAL PALACB. 

The towers and fanes. 

In other scaynes, 
The fame of this will luido, 

Saint Paul's big doom, 

Saint Payther's Room, 
And Dublin's proud Rotundo. 

'Tis here that roams. 

As well becomes 
Her dignitee and stations, 

Victoria Great, 

And houlds in state 
The Congress of the Nations. 

Her subjects pours 
From distant shores. 

Her Injians and Canajians ; 
And also we. 
Her kingdoms three, 

Attind with our allagiance. 

Here come likewise 

Her bould allies, 
Both Asian and Europian ; 

From East and "West 

They send their best 
To fill her Coornucopean. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 291 

I seen (thank Grace !) 

This wondthrous place 
(His Noble Honour Misther 

H. Cole it was 

That gave the pass, 
And let me see what is there). 

With conscious proide 

I stud insoide 
And looked the World's Great Fair in. 

Until me sight 

Was dazzled quite. 
And couldn't see for staring. 

There's holy saints 

And window paints. 
By Maydiayval Pugin ; 

Alhamborough Jones 

Did paint the tones 
Of yellow and gambouge in. 

There's fountains there 

And crosses fair ; 
There's water- gods with urrns ; 

There's organs three. 

To play, d'ye see, 
*' God save the Queen," by turms. 



292 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

There's Statues bright 

Of marble white, 
Of silver, and of copper ; 

And some in zinc. 

And some, I think, 
That isn't over proper. 

There's staym Ingynes, 

That stands in lines, 
Enormous and amazing. 

That squeal and snort 

Like whales in sport. 
Or elephants a-grazing. 

There's carts and gigs, 

And pins for pigs ; 
There's dibblers and there's harrows. 

And ploughs like toys 

For little boys. 
And elegant wheel-barrowa. 

For them genteels 

Who ride on wheels. 
There's plenty to indulge 'em ; 

There's Droskys snug 

From Paytersbug, 
And vayhecles from Bulgium. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 29;) 

There's Cabs on Stands 

And Shandthry danns ; 
There's Waggons from New York here ; 

There's Lapland Sleighs 

Have crossed the says, 
And Jaunting Cyars from Cork here. 

Amazed I pass 

From glass to glass, 
Deloighted I survey 'em ; 

Fresh wondthers grows 

Before me nose 
In this sublime Musayum ! 

Look, here's a fan 

From far Japan, 
A sabre from Damasco ; 

There's shawls ye get 

From far Thibet, 
And cotton prints from Glasgow. 

There's German flutes, 

Marocky boots. 
And Naples Macaronies ; 

Bohaymia 

Has sent Bohay 
Polonia her polonies. 



294 THE CRTSTAI. PAXACE. 

There's granite flints 

That's quite imminse, 
There's sacks of coals and fuels. 

There's swords and guns, 

And soap in tuns, 
And Ginger-bread and Jewels. 

There's taypots there, 

And cannons rare ; 
There's coiRns filled with roses ; 

There's canvas tints, 

Teeth insthrumints, 
And shuits of clothes, by Moses. 

There's lashins more 

Of things in store. 
But thim I don't renumber ; 

Nor could disclose 

Did I compose 
From May time to Novimber ! 

Ah JuBT thru ! 

With eyes so blue. 
That you were here to view it ! 

And could I screw 

But tu pound tu, 
'Tis I would thrait you to it ! 



MOLONT'S LAMENT. 295 

So let us raise 

Victoria's praise, 
And Albert's proud condition. 

That takes his ayse 

As he surveys 
This Cristial Exhibition. 



MOLONY'S LAMENT. 

O Tim, did you hear of thim Saxons, 

And read what the peepers repoort ? 
They're goan to recal the Liftinant, 

And shut up the Castle and Coort ! 
Our desolate counthry of Oireland, 

They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy, 
And now, having murdthered our counthry, 

They're goin to kill the Viceroy, 
Dear boy ; 

'Twas he was our proide and our joy ! 

And will we no longer behould him, 
Surrounding his carriage in throngs, 

As he weaves his cocked hat from the windies, 
And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs ? 



296 molony's lament. 

I liked for to see the young liaroes, 

All shoining with sthripes and with stars, 

A horsing about in the Phaynix, 
And winking the girls in the cyars. 

Like Mars, 
A amokin' their poipes and cigyars. 

Dear Mitchell, exoiled to Bermudies, 

Your beautiful oilids you'll ope, 
And there'll be an abondance of croyin 

From O' Brine at the Keep of Good Hope, 
When they read of this news in the peepers, 

Acrass the Atlantical wave. 
That the last of the Oirish Liftinints 

Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. 
God save 

The Queen — she should betther behave. 

And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, 
And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, 

Whin the Coort of imparial splindor 
From Doblin's sad city departs ? 

And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers. 
When the deuce of a Coort there remains ? 



MOLOXY S LAMENT. 297 

And where'll be the bucks and the ladies. 
To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains ? 

In sthrains 
It's thus that ould Erin complains ! 

There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy, 

'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail, 
And she wanted a plinty of popplin. 

For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail ; 
She bought it of Misthress O'Grady, 

Eight shillings a yard tabinet. 
But now that the Coort is concluded. 

The diwle a yard will she get ; 
I bet, 

Bedad, that she wears the old set. 

There's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary, 

They'd daylings at Madam O'Riggs' ; 
Each year at the dthrawing-room sayson. 

They mounted the neatest of wigs. 
When Spring, with its buds and its dasies- 

Comes out in her beauty and bloom, 
Thim tu'll never think of new jasies, 

Because there is no dthrawing-room. 
For whom 

They'd choose the expense to ashume. 



298 molony's lament. 

There's Alderman Toad and Ms lady, 

'Twas they gave the Clart and the Poort, 
And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters. 

To feast the Lord Liftinint's Coort. 
But now that the quality's goin, 

I warnt that the aiting -will stop, 
And you'll get at the Alderman's teeble 

The devil a bite or a dthrop, 
Or chop. 

And the butcher may shut up his shop. 

Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin, 

And his Lordship, the dear honest man. 
And the Duchess, his eemiable leedy. 

And Corry, the bould Connellan, 
And little Lord Hyde and the childthren. 

And the Chewter and Governess tu ; 
And the servants are packing their boxes, — 

O, murther, but what shall I due 
Without you ? 

O Meery, with oi's of the blue ! 



MR. MOLOXT's ACCOUXT OF THE BALL. 299 



MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL 

GIVEN TO THE NEPAtJLESE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENINSULAR AND 
ORIENTAL COMPANY. 

O WILL ye choose to hear the news, 

Bedad, I cannot pass it o'er : 
I'll tell you all about the Ball 

To the Naypaulase Ambassador. 
Begor ! this fete all balls does bate, 

At which I worn a pump, and I 
Must here relate the splendthor great 

Of th' Oriental Company. 

These men of sinse dispoised expinse, 

To fete these black Achilleses. 
" We'll show the blacks," says they, " Almack's, 

And take the rooms at WUlis's." 
With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, 

They hung the rooms of Willis up. 
And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls. 

With roses and with lilies up. 



300 MK. molony's account of the BAL1>. 

And Jullien's band it tuck its stand, 

So sweetly in the middle there, 
And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes, 

And violins did fiddle there. 
And when the Coort was tired of spoort, 

I'd lave you, boys, to think there was 
A nate buffet before them set, 

Where lashins of good dhrink there was ! 

At ten before the "ball-room door, 

His moighty Excellency was. 
He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd. 

So gorgeous and immense he was. 
His dusky shuit, sublime and mute. 

Into the door- way followed him ; 
And O the noise of the blackguard boys. 

As they hurrood and hollowed him ! 

The noble Chair * stud at the stair. 

And bade the dthrums to thump ; and he 

Did thus evince to that Black Prince 
The welcome of his Company. 

• James Matheson, Esq., to ■whom, and the Board of Directors of 
the Peninsular and Oriental Company, I, Timotheus Malony, late 
stoker on board the Iberia, the Lady Mary Wood, the Tagus, and the 
Oriental steamships, humbly dedicate this production of my grateful 



ME. MOLONY S ACCOUXT OF THE BALL. 301 

O fair the girls, and rich the curls, 

And bright the oys, you saw there, was ; 

And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi. 
On Gineral Jung Bahawther was ! 

This Gineral great then tuck his sate, 

With all the other ginerals, 
(Bedad, his troat, his belt, his coat, 

All bleezed with precious minerals ;) 
And as he there, with princely air, 

Recloinin on his cushion was. 
All round about his royal chair. 

The squeezin and the pushin was. 

O Pat, such girls, such Jukes, and Earls, 

Such fashion and nobilitee ! 
Just think of Tim, and fancy >^''m 

Amidst the hoigh gentility ! 
There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese 

Ministher and his lady there. 
And I reckonized, with much surprise, 

Our messmate. Bob O'Grady, there ; 

There was Baroness Bruno w, that looked like Juno 
And Baroness Rehausen there. 



802 MR. MOLOXY S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL. 

And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar 
Well, in lier robes of gauze in there. 

There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first. 
When only Mr. Pips he was), 

And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool. 
That after supper tipsy was. 

There was Lord Fingall and his ladies all. 

And Lords Killeen and Dufierin, 
And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife ; 

I wondther how he could stuif her in. 
There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, 

And seemed to ask how should I go there ? 
And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, 

And the Marchioness of Sligo there. 

Yes, Jukes, and Eai-ls, and diamonds, and pearls. 

And pretty girls, was spoorting there ; 
And some beside (the rogues !) I spied. 

Behind the windies, coorting there. 
O, there's one I know, bedad, would show 

As beautiful as any there, 
And I'd like to hear the pipers blow. 

And shake a fut with Fanny there ! 



THE BATTLE OF LIMEEICK. 303 



THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 

Ye Genii of the nation. 

Who look with veneration. 
And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore, 

Ye sons of General Jackson, 

"Who thrample on the Saxon, 
Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore. 

When William, Duke of Schumbug, 

A tyrant and a humbug. 
With cannon and with thunder on our city bore, 

Our fortitude and valliance 

Insthructed his battalions 
To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore. 

Since that capitulation, 

No city in this nation 
So grand a reputation could boast before, 

As Limerick prodigious. 

That stands with quays and bridges. 
And the ships up to the n-indies of the Shannon shore 



304 THE BATTLE OF LIMEEICK. 

A chief of ancient line, 

'Tis William Smith O'Brine, 
Reprisints this darling Limerick this ten years or more ; 

O the Saxons can't endure 

To see him on the flure, 
And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore ! 

This valiant son of Mars 

Had been to visit Par's, 
That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor ; 

And to welcome his return 

From pilgrimages furren, 
"We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. 

Then we summoned to our board 

Young Meagher of the sword ; 
'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore ; 

And Mitchil of Belfast, 

We bade to our repast. 
To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore. 

Convaniently to hould 

These patriots so bould. 
We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store ; 

And with ornamints and banners 

(As becomes gintale good manners) 
We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore. 



THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 305 

'Twould binifit your sowls 

To see the butthered rowls. 
The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore, 

And the muffins and the crumpets, 

And the band of harps and thrumpets. 
To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. 

Sure the Imperor of Bohay 
Would be proud to dthrink the tay 

That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour; 
And, since the days of Strongbow, 
There never was such Congo — 

Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it — by Shannon shore. 

But Clarndon and Corry 

Connellan beheld this sworry 
With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core ; 

And they hired a gang of ruffins 

To interrupt the muffins. 
And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore. 

When full of tay and cake, 

O'Brine began to spake, 
But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar 

Of a ragamuffin rout 

Began to yell and shout, 
And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. 



306 THE BATTLE OF LIMEEICK. 

As Smith O' Brine harangued, 
They batthered and they banged ; 

Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they tore ; 
They smashed the lovely windies, 
(Hung with muslin from the Indies), 

Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore. 

With throwing of brickbats. 

Drowned puppies and dead rats, 
These ruffin democrats themselves did lower ; 

Tin kettles, rotten eggs. 

Cabbage-stalks and wooden legs. 
They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore. 

O, the girls began to scrame. 

And upset the milk and crame ; 
And the honourable gintlemin they cursed and swore : 

And Mitchil of Belfast, 

'Twas he that looked aghast, 
When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore. 

O the lovely tay was spilt 

On that day of Ireland's guilt ; 
Says Jack Mitchil, " I am kilt ! Boys, where' s the back door ? 

'Tis a national disgrace ; 

Let me go and veil me face ; " 
And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore. 



-^ ^ JU.". 







308 THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 

" Cut down the bloody horde ! " 

Says Meagher of the sword, 
" This conduct would disgrace any blackamoor ; " 

But millions were arrayed, 

So he shaythed his battle blade, 
Rethrayting undismayed from the Shannon shore. 

Immortal Smith O' Brine 

Was raging like a line ; 
'Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar ; 

In his glory he arose, 

And he rushed upon his foes, 
But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore. 

Then the Futt and the Dthragoons 

In squadthrons and platoons, 
With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore ; 

And they bate the rattatoo, 

And the Peelers came in \iew. 
And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. 



THE LAST IRISH GUIEVA.NX'E. 



309 




THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. 



On reading of the jreneral indignation occasioned in Ireland by 
the appointment of a Scotch Professor to one of Her Majesty's God- 
less Colleges, Master MoUoy Malon}', brother of Thaddeus Molony, 
Esq., of the Temple, a youth onlj- fifteen years of age, dashed ofl' 
the following spirited Hues : 

As I think of the insult that's done to this nation, 
Retl tears of rivinge from me fajlures I wash, 

And uphold in this pome, to the world's daytistation, 
The sleeves that appointed Professor M'Cosh. 



310 THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. 

I look round me counthree, renowned by exparience. 
And see midst her childthren, the witty, the wise, — 

Whole hayps of logicians, potes, sehollars, grammarians. 
All aygcr for pleeces, all panting to rise ; 

I gaze round the world in its utmost diminsion; 

Lard Jahn and his minions in Council I ask. 
Was there ever a government pleece (with a pinsion), 

But children of Erin wei-e fit for that task ? 

What, Erin beloved, is thy fetal condition ? 

Wliat shame in aych boosom must rankle and burrun, 
To think that our countree has ne'er a logician 

In the hour of her deenger will surrev her turrun ! 

On the logic of Saxons there's little reliance. 
And, rather from Saxons than gather its rules, 

I'd stamp under feet the base book of his science. 
And spit on his chair as he taught in the schools ! 

O fiilse Sir John Kane ! is it thus that you praych me ? 

I think all your Queen's Universitees Bosh; 
And if you've no neetive Professor to taych me, 

I scawurn to be learned by the Saxon M'Cosh. 



THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. 311 

There's Wiseman and Chiime, and His Grace the Lord 
Primate, 

That sinds round the box, and the world will subscribe ; 
'Tis thej'll I)uild a College that's fit for our climate, 

And taych me the saycrets I burn to imboibe. 

' Tis tliere as a Student of Science I'll enther. 
Fair Fountain of Knowledge, of Joy and Contint ! 

Saint Patrick's sweet Statue shall stand in the centher. 
And wink his dear oi every day during Lint. 

And good Doctor Newman, that praycher unwaiy, 
'Tis he shall preside the Academee School, 

And quit the gay robe of St. Philip of Neri, 
To wield the soft rod of St. Lawrence O'Toole ' 



312 LARRY O'TOOLE. 



LARRY OTOOLE. 



You Ve all heard of Larry O'Toole, 
Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole ; 

He had but one eye. 

To ogle ye by — 
Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l! 

A fool 
He made of de girls, dis O'Toole. 

'T was he was the boy did n't foil. 

That tuck down pataties and mail ; 
He never Avould shrink 
From any sthrong dthrink, 

Was it whiskey or Drogheda ale ; 
I 'm bail 

This Larry would swallow a pail. 

Oh, many a night at the bowl, 
With Larry I 've sot cheek by jowl ; 

He 's gone to his rest. 

Where there 's dthrink of the best. 
And so let us give his old sowl 
A howl, 



314 THE ROSE OF FLORA. 



THE ROSE OF FLORA. 

Sent by a Young Gentleman of Quality to Miss Br — dy, of 
Castle Brady. 



On Brady's tower there grows a flower. 
It is the loveliest flower that blows ; 

At Castle Brady there lives a lady, 
(And how I love her no one knows) ; 

Her name is Nora, and the goddess Flora 
Presents her Avith this blooming rose. 

•'O Lady Nora," says the goddess Flora, 
" I 've many a rich and bright parterre; 

In Brady's towers there 's seven more flowers. 
But you 're the fairest lady there : 

Not all the county, nor Ireland's bounty. 
Can projuice a treasure that 's half so fair! " 



THE ROSE OF FLORA. 315 

What cheek is redder? sure roses fed her! 

Iler hair is marejolds, and her eyes of blew. 
Beneath her eyelid, is like the vi'let, 

That darkly glistens with gentle jew ! 
The lily's nature is not surely whiter 

Than Nora's neck is, — and her arrunis too. 

" Come, gentle Nora," says the goddess Flora, 
" My dearest creature, take my advice. 

There is a poet, full well you know it. 

Who spends his lifetime in heavy siglis, — 

Young Redmond Barry, 't is him you '11 marry. 
If rhyme and raisin you 'd choose likewise." 



31 G THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. 



TIIE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. 



THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND 
MARY BROWN. 

An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek — 
I stood in the Court of A' Beckett the Beak, 
Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see, 
Who charged Mary Brown Avith a robbin of she. 

This Mary was pore and in misery once, 

And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce, 

She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner, nor no tea. 

And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three. 



JANE KONEY AND MARY BKOWN. 317 

Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks, 
(Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax,) 
She kep her for nothink, as kind as could be, 
Never thinking that this Mary was a traitor to she. 

" Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill ; 
Will you jest step to the Doctor's for to fetch me a pill ? " 
" That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she ; 
And she goes off to the Doctor's as quickly as may be. 

No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped. 
Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed ; 
She hopens all the trunks without never a key — 
She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free. 

Mrs. Roney's best linning gownds, petticoats, and close. 
Her children's little coats and things, her boots and her 

hose. 
She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them 

did flee. 
Mrs. Roney's situation — you may think vat it vould be ! 

Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay, 
Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day. 
Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see ? 
But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she. 



318 JANE KONEY AND MARY BROWN. 

She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man ; 
They were going to be married, and were Avalkin hand 

in hand ; 
And the Church bells was a ringing for Mary and he, 
And the parson was ready, and a waitin for his fee. 

When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown, 
Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground. 
She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me ; 
I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman, says she. 

Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go, 

I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know. 

But the marriage bell is a ringin, and the ring you may 

see. 
And this young man is a waitin, says Mary, says she. 

I don't care three fardens for the parson and dark, 
And the bell may keep ringin from noon day to dark. 
Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me, 
And I think this young man is lucky to be free. 

So, in spite of the tears which bejewed Mary's cheek, 
I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak ; 
That exlent justice demanded her plea — 
But never a suUable said Mary said she. 



TUE THKEE CHRISTMAS "WAITS. 319 

On account of her conduck so base and so vile, 
That wicked young gurl is committed for trile, 
And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea, 
It's a proper reward for such \\illians as she. 

Now, you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who 

veep, 
From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep. 
Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek, 
To pull you all hup to A' Beckett the Beak. 



THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 

My name is Pleaceman X ; 

Last night I Avas in bed, 
A dream did me perplex, 

^ATiich came into my Edd. 
I dreamed I sor three Waits 

A playing of their tune. 
At Pimlico Palace gates. 

All underneath the moon. 
One puffed a hold French hora, 

And one and old Banjo, 



320 THE THREE CHRISTMAS "WAITS. 

And one chap, seedy and torn, 

A Hirish pipe did blow. 
They sadly piped and played, 

Dexcribing of their fates ; 
And this was what they said, 

Those three pore Christmas Waits : — 

" "When this black year began. 

This Eighteen-forty-eight, 
I was a great, great man. 

And king both vise and great. 
And Munseer Guizot by me did show 

As Minister of State. 

" But Febuwerry came, 

And brought a rabble rout, 
And me and my good dame 

And children did turn out. 
And us, in spite of all our right. 

Sent to the right about. 

" I left my native ground, 

I left my kin and kith, 
T left my royal cro^vnd, 

Vich I couldn't travel ■vith. 
And without a pound came to English ground. 

In the name of Mr. Smith. 



THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 321 

" Like any anchorite 

I've lived since I came here, 
I've kep myself quite quite, 

I've drank the small small beer. 
And the vater, you see, disagrees \'ith me. 

And all my famly dear. 

" O, Tweeleries so dear, 

O, darling Pally Royl, 
Vas it to finish here 

That I did trouble and toyl ? 
That all my plans should break in my ands, 

And should on me recoil ? 

" My state I fenced about 

Vith baynicks and with guns ; 
My gals I portioned hout, 

Rich vives I got my sons ; 
O, varn't it crule to lose my rule. 

My money and lands at once ? 

" And so, \ith arp and woice, 

Both troubled and shagreened, 
I bid you to rejoice, 

O glorious England's Queend ! 
And never have to veep, like pore Louis- Phileep, 

Because you out are cleaned. 



322 THE THTtxr CHKISTMAS WAITS. 

" O, Piins. so brave and stout, 

I stand before vour gate : 
Pray send a trifle bout 

To me. your pore old Vait ; 
For notbink could be tuss tban it's been along vith us. 

In this year Forty-eigbt." 

" Yen tbis bad year began," 

Tbe nex man said, saysee, 
" I vas a Journeyman, 

A taylor black and free. 
And my wife went out and cbaired about, 

And my name's tbe bold Cuffee. 

" Tbe Queen and Halbert botb, 

I swore I would confound, 
I took a bawfle boath 

To drag tbem to tbe ground ; 
And sevral more witb me tbey swore 

Against tbe Britisb Crownd. 

" Aginst her Pleacemen all, 

"We said we'd try our strentb : 
Her scarlick soldiers tall, 

We vowed we'd lay full lentb : 
And out we came, in Freedom's name. 

Last Aypril was tbe tenth. 



THE THEEE CHEISTMAS WAITS. 323 

" Three 'undred thoosand snobs 

Came out to stop the vav, 
Vith sticks vith iron knobs. 

Or else we'd gained the day. 
The barmy quite kept out of sight, 

And so ve vent avay. 

" Nest day the Pleacemen came — 

Rewenge it was their plann — 
And from my good old dame 

They took her tailor-mann : 
And the hard, hard beak did me bespeak 

To Xewgit in the TTann. 

" In that etrocious Cort 

The Jewry did agree ; 
The Judge did me transport. 

To go beyond the sea; 
And so for life, from his dear wife 

They took poor old Cuffee. 

" O Halbert, Appy Prince ! 

With children round your knees, 
Ingraving ansum Prints, 

And taking hoSF your hease ; 
O think of me, the old Cnfiee, 

Beyond the solt, solt seas ! 



324 THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 

" Althougli I'm hold and black. 
My Languish is most great ; 

Great Prince, O call me back 
And I vill be your Vait ! 

And never no more \dll break the Lor, 
As I did in 'Forty-eight." 

The tailer thus did close 

(A pore old blackymore rogue). 

When a dismal gent uprose, 

And spoke with Hirish brogue : 

" I'm Smith O'Brine, of Royal Line, 
Descended from Rory Ogue. 

"When great O'Connle died. 
That man whom all did trust, 

That man whom Henglish pride 
Beheld with such disgust, 

Then Erin free fixed eyes on me. 
And swoar I should be fust. 

" ' The glorious Hirish Crown,' 
Says she, ' it shall be thine ; 

Long time, it's wary well known. 
You kep it in your line ; 

That diadem of hemerald gem 
Is yours, my Smith O' Brine. 



THE THKEE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 325 

" ' Too long the Saxon churl 

Our land encumbered hath ; 
Arise, my Prince, my Earl, 

And brush them from thy path ; 
Rise, mighty Smith, and sveep 'em vith 

The besom of your wrath.' 

'* Then in my might I rose, 

My country I sur^^eyed, 
I saw it filled with foes, 

I viewed them undismayed ; 
Ha, ha ! says I, the harvest's high, 

I'll reap it with my blade. 

" My warriors I enrolled. 

They rallied round their lord ; 
And cheafs in council old 

I summoned to the board — 
Wise Doheny and Duffy bold. 

And Meagher of the Sword. 

" I stood on Slievenamaun, 

They came with pikes and bills ; 

They gathered in the dawn. 
Like mist upon the hills, 

And rushed adown the mountain side 
Like twenty thousand rills. 



326 THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 

" Their fortress we assail ; 

Hurroo ! my boys, hurroo ! 
The bloody Saxons quail 

To hear the wild shaloo ; 
Strike, and prevail, proud Innesfail, 

O' Brine, aboo, aboo ! 

" Our people they defied ; 

They shot at 'em like savages. 
Their bloody guns they plied 

With sanguinary ravages ; 
Hide, blushing Glory, hide 

That day among the cabbages ! 

" And so no more I'll say, 
But ask your Mussy great, 

And humbly sing and pray. 
Your Majesty's poor Wait: 

Your Smith O'Brine in 'Forty-nine 
Will blush for 'Forty-eight." 



L!I'3S ON A. LATE HOSPICIOOS ilWENT. 32^ 



LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS Efl^ENT.* 

BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE FOOT-QUAEDS (BLUE). 



I PACED upon my beat 

With steady step and slow, 

All huppando\vnd of Ranelagh Street ; 
Ran'lagh St. Pimlico. 

While marching huppandownd 

Upon that fair May morn, 
Beold the booming cannings sound, 

A royal child is born ! 

The Ministers of State 

Then presnly I sor, 
They gallops to the Pallis gate, 

In carridges and for. 

• The bii'th of Prince Arthur. 



328 LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENX. 

With anxious looks intent, 

Before the gate thej' stop, 
There comes the good Lord President, 

And there the Archbishopp. 

Lord John he next elights ; 

And who comes here in haste ? 
'Tis the ero of one underd lights. 

The caudle for to taste. 

Then Mrs. Lily, the nuss. 

Towards them stops with joy ; 

Says the brave old Duke, " Come tell to us. 
Is it a gal or a boy r " 

Says Mrs. L. to the Duke, 
" Your Grace, it is a Prince." 

And at that nuss's bold rebuke. 
He did both laugh and wince. 

He vcws with pleasant look 

This pooty flower of May, 
Then says the wencrable Duke, 

" Egad, its my buthday." 



LINES OS A LATE H08PICIOT7S EWENT. 329 

By memory backards borne, 

Peraps his thoughts did stray 
To that old place where he was bom, 

Upon the first of May. 

Peraps he did recal 

The ancient towers of Trim ; 
And County Meath and Dangan Hall 

They did rewisit him. 

I phansy of him so 

His good old thoughts employin' ; 
Fourscore years and one ago 

Beside the flowin' Boyne. 

His father praps he sees, 

Most musicle of Lords, 
A playing maddrigles and glees 

Upon the Arpsicords. 

Jest phansy this old Ero 

Upon his mother's knee ! 
Did ever lady in this land 

Ave greater sons than she ? 



330 LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOtJS EWENT. 

And I shoucia be surprise 
While this was in his raind, 

If a drop there twinkled in his eyes 
Of unfamiliar brind. 



To Hapsly Ouse next day 
Drives up a Broosh and for, 

A gracious prince sits in that Shay 
(I mention him with Hor !) 

They ring upon the bell, 
The Porter shows his Ed, 

(He fought at Vaterloo as veil. 
And vears a Veskit red.) 

To see that carriage come 
The people round it press : 

" And is the gall^ait Duke at ome ? " 
" Your Royal IgJiness, yes." 

He stepps from out the Broosh 

And in the gate is gone, 
And X, although the people push, 

Says wery kind " Move hon." 



LINES OX A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENT. 331 

The Royal Prince unto 

The galliant Duke did say, 
" Dear Duke, my little son and you 

Was born the self same day. 

" The lady of the land, 

My wife and Sovring dear. 
It is by her horgust command 

I wait upon you here. 

" That lady is as well 

As can expected be ; 
And to your Grace she bid me tell 

This gracious message free. 

" That offspring of our race. 

Whom yesterday you see, 
To show our honor for your Grace, 

Prince Arthur he shall be. 

" That name it rhymes to fame ; 

All Europe knows the sound ; 
And I couldn't find a better name 

If you'd give me twenty pound. 



332 IIXES ox A lATE HOSPICIOUS ETVEXT. 

" King Arthur had his knights 
That girt his table round, 

But you have won a hundred fights. 
Will match 'em I'll be bound. 

" You fought with Bonypart, 
And likewise Tippoo Saib ; 

I name you then with all my heart 
The Godsire of this babe." 

That Prince his leave was took. 
His hinterview was done. 

So let us give the good old Duke 
Good luck of his god-son, 

And wish him years of joy 
In this our time of Schism, 

And hope he'll hear the royal boy 
His little catechism. 

And my pooty little Prince 
That's come our arts to cheer. 

Let me my loyal powers e^^ince 
A welcomin of you ere. 



THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. 333 

And the Poit-Laureat's crownd, 

I think, in some respex, 
Egstremely shootable might be found 

For honest Pleaseman X. 



THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. 

Galhant gents and lovely ladies, 

List a tail vich late befel, 
Vich I heard it, bein on dutv, 

At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell. 

Praps you know the Fondling Chapel, 
Vere the little children sings : 

(Lor ! I likes to hear on Sundies 
Them there pooty little things ! ) 

In this street there lived a housemaid. 
If you particklarly ask me where — 

Vy, it vas at four and tventy, 

Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square. 



334 IHE BALLAD OF ELIZA DATIS. 

Vich her name was Eliza Davis, 
And she went to fetch the beer : 

In the street she met a party 

As was quite surprized to see her. 

Vich he vas a British Sailor, 
For to judge him by his look : 

Tarry jacket, canvas trowsies, 
Ha-la Mr. T. P. Cooke. 

Presently this Mann accostes 
Of this hinnocent young gal — 

Pray, saysee, Excuse my freedom. 
You're so like my Sister Sal ! 

You're so like my Sister Sally, 
Both in valk and face and size ; 

Miss, that — dang my old lee scuppers. 
It brings tears into my heyes I 

I'm a mate on board a wessel, 
I'm a sailor bold and true ; 

Shiver up my poor old timbers. 
Let me be a mate for vou ! 



THE BALLAD OP ELIZA DAVIS. 335 

What's your name, my beauty, tell me ? 

And she faintly hansers, " Lore, 
Sir, my name's Eliza Davis, 

And I live at tventy-four." 

Hofttimes came this British seaman, 

This deluded gal to meet : 
And at tventy-four was welcome, 

Tventy-four in Guilford Street. 

And Eliza told her Master, 

(Kinder they than Missuses are). 
How ia marridge he had ast her. 

Like a gaUiant Brittish Tar. 

And he brought his landlady vith hint, 

(Vich vas all his hartful plan), 
And she told how Charley Thompson 

Reely vas a good young man. 

And how she herself had lived in 

Many years of union sweet, 
Vith a gent she met promiskous, 

Valkin in the public street. 



336 THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DATIS. 

And Eliza listened to them, 

And she thought that soon their bands 
Vould be published at the Fondlin, 

Hand the clergyman jine their ands. 

And he ast about the lodgers, 

(Vich her master let some rooms), 

Likevise vere they kep their things, and 
Vere her master kep his spoons. 

Hand this vicked Charley Thompson 
Came on Sundy veek to see her, 

And he sent Eliza Davis 

Hout to vetch a pint of beer. 

Hand while pore Eliza vent to 
Fetch the beer, dewoid of sin. 

This etrocious Charley Thompson 
Let his wile accomplish hin. 

To the lodgers, their apartments, 
This abandingd female goes. 

Prigs their shirts and umberellas : 

Prigs their boots, and hats, and clothes. 



THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. 337 

Vile the scoundrle Charley Thompson, 

Lest his wictim should escape, 
Hocust her vith rum and vater. 

Like a fiend in huining shape. 

But a hi was fixt upon 'em 

Vich these raskles little sore ; 
Namely, Mr. Hide the landlord, 

Of the house at tventv-four. 



He vas valkin in his garden. 
Just afore he vent to sup ; 

And on looking up he sor the 
Lodger's vinders lighted hup. 

Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled; 

Something's going wrong, he said ; 
And he caught the vicked voman 

Underneath the lodger's bed. 

And he called a brother Pleaseman, 
Vich vas passing on his beat, 

Like a true and galliant feller. 

Hup and down in Guildford Street. 



838 



THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. 



And that Pleaseman able-bodied 
Took this voman to the cell ; 

To the cell vere she was quodded. 
In the Close of Clerkenwell. 




THE BALL.\D OF ELIZA DAVIS, 339 

And though vicked Charley Thompson 

Boulted like a miscrant base, 
Presently another Pleeiseman 

Took him to the self-same place. 

And this precious pair of raskles 

Tuesday last came up for doom ; 
By the beak they was committed, 

Vich his name was Mr. Combe. 

Has for poor Eliza Davis, 

Simple gurl of tventy-four, 
She, I ope, vill never listen 

In the streets to sailors moar. 



But if she must ave a sweet-art, 
(Vich most every gurl expex,) 

Let her take a jolly pleaseman, 
Vich is name peraps is — X. 



340 DAMAGES, TWO HXTNDKED POTTXDS. 



DAMAGES, TWO HUXDRED POUNDS. 

Speciai, Jurymen of England ! who admire your coimtry's 
laws, 

And proclaim a Britisli Jury worthy of the realm's ap- 
plause ; 

Gayly compliment each other at the issue of a cause 

"Which was tried at Guildford 'sizes, this day week as ever 
was. 

Unto that august tribunal comes a gentleman in grief, 
(Special was the British Jury, and the Judge, the Baroa 

Chief,) 
Comes a British man and husband — asking of the law 

relief. 
For his wife was stolen from him — he'd have vengeance 

on the thief. 

Yes, his wife, the blessed treasure with the which his life 
was crowned. 

Wickedly was ravished from him by a hj'pocrite pro- 
found ; 



DAMAGES, IWO HUNDEED POUNDS. 341 

And he comes before twelve Britons, men for sense and 

truth renowned. 
To awaxd him for his damage twenty hundred sterling 

pound. 

He by counsel and attorney there at Guildford does 

appear, 
Asking damage of the villain who seduced his lady 

dear; 
But I can't help asking, though the lady's guilt was all 

too clear. 
And though guilty the defendant, wasn't the plaintiff 

rather queer? 

First the lady's mother spoke, and said she'd seen her 

daughter cry 
But a fortnight after marriage : early times for piping eye. 
Six months after, things were worse, and the piping eye 

was black. 
And this gallant British husband caned his wife upon the 

back. 

Three months after they were married, husband pushed 

her to the door. 
Told her to be off and leave him, for he wanted her no 

more. 



S42 DA3ii.GES, T-WO HrXDEED POrXDS. 

A3 she would not go, why, he went : thrice he left his lady 

dear, 
Left her, too, without a penny, for more than a quarter of 

a vear. 

Mrs. Frances Duncan knew the parties very well indeed ; 
She had seen him pull his lady's nose, and make her lip 

to hleed ; 
K he chanced to sit at home, not a single word he said ; 
Once she saw him throw the cover of a dish at his lady's 

head. 

Sarah Green, another witness, clear did to the Jury note 
How she saw this honest fellow seize his lady by the 

throat. 
How he cursed her and abused her, beating her into 

a fit, 
Till the pitying next-door neighbors crossed the wall and 

witnessed it. 

Next door to this injured Briton Mr. Owers, a butcher, 

dwelt ; 
Mrs. Owers's fooKsh heart towards this erring dame did 

melt ; 
(Not that she had erred as yet, crime was not developed 

in her) 



DAMAGES, TWO HrXDEED POUNDS. 343 

But being left \ritliout a penny, Mrs. Owers supplied her 

dinner — 
God be merciful to Mrs. Owers, wbo was merciful to this 



Caroline Navlor was their servant, said they led a wretched 

life, 
Saw this most distinguished Briton fling a teacup at his 

wife ; 
He went out to balls and pleasures, and never once, in 

ten months' space. 
Sat ^vith his wife, or spoke her kindly. This was the 

defendant's case. 

Pollock. C. B., charged the Jury; said the woman's guilt 

was clear ; 
That was not the point, however, which the Jury came to 

hear ; 
But the damage to determine, which, as it should true 

appear. 
This most tender-hearted husband, who so used his lady 

dear. 

Beat her, kicked her, caned her, cursed her, left her starv- 
ing year by year, 

Flimg her from him, parted from her, wrung her neck, 
and boxed her ear. 



344 DAMAGES, TAVO HUNDRED POUNDS. 

What the reasonable damage this afflicted man could 

claim, 
By the loss of the affections of this guilty, graceless dame ? 

Then the honest British Twelve, to each other turning 

round. 
Laid their clever heads together, with a wisdom most 

profound ; 
And towards his Lordship looking, spoke the foreman 

wise and sound ; 
" My Lord, -we find for this here plaintiff damages two 

hundred pound." 

So, God bless the Special Jury ! pride and joy of English 

ground, 
And the happy land of England, where true justice does 

abound ! 
British Jurymen and husbands, let us hail this verdict 

proper ; 
If a British wife offends you, Britons, you've a right to 

whop her. 

Though you promised to protect her, though you prom- 
ised to defend her. 

You are welcome to neglect her ; to the devil you may 
send her : 



THE KNIGHT AXD THE LADY. 345 

You may strike her, curse, abuse her ; so declares our law 

renowned ; 
And if after this you lose her — why, you're paid two 

hundred pound. 



THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 

Theke's in the Vest a city pleasant. 
To vich King Bladud gev his name, 

And in that city there's a Crescent, 
Vere dwelt a noble knight of fame. 

Although that galliant knight is oldish, 
Although Sir John as gray, gray air, 

Hage has not made his busum coldish. 
His Art still beats tewodds the Fair ! 

'Twas two years sins, this knight so splendid, 
Peraps fateagued with Bath's routines, 

To pans towne his phootsteps bended 
In sutch of gayer folks and seans. 

His and was free, his means was easy, 
A nobler, finer gent than he 



346 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 

Ne'er drove about the Shons-Eleesy, 
Or paced the Roo de Rivolee. 

A brougham and pair Sir John prowided. 
In which abroad he loved to ride ; 

But ar ! he most of all enjyed it, 

When some one helse was sittin' inside ! 

That " some one helse " a lovely dame was, 
Dear ladies, you will heasy tell — 

Countess Grabrowski her sweet name was, 
A noble title, ard to spell. 

This faymous countess ad a daughter 

Of lovely form and tender art ; 
A nobleman in marridge sought her. 

By name the Baron of Saint Bart. 

Their pashn touched the noble Sir John, 

It was so pewer and profound ; 
Lady Grabrowski he did urge on, 

With Hyming's wreeth their loves to croAvnd. 

" O, come to Bath, to Lansdowne Crescent," 
Says kind Sir John, " and live with me : 



THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 347 

The living there's uncommon pleasant — 
I'm sure you'll find the hair agree. 

" O, come to Bath, my fair Grabrowski, 
And bring your charming girl," sezee : 

" The Barring here shall have the ouse-key. 
Vith breakfast, dinner, lunch, and tea. 

" And when they've passed an appy winter. 
Their opes and loves no more we'll bar ; 

The marridge-vow they'll enter inter, 
And I at church will be their Par." 

To Bath they went to Lansdowne Crescent, 
Where good Sir John he did provide 

No end of teas, and balls incessant. 
And hoss3s both to drive and ride. 

He was so Ospitably busy. 

When Miss was late, he'd make so bold 
Upstairs to call out, " Missy, Missy, 

Come down, the coffy's getting cold ! " 

But O ! 'tis sadd to think such bounties 
Should meet with such return as this ; 



348 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 

O, Barring of Saint Bart, O, Countess 
Grabrowski, and O, cruel Miss ! 

He married you at Bath's fair Habby, 
Saint Bart he treated like a son — 

And wasn't it uncommon shabby 

To do what you have went and done ! 

My trembling And amost refewses 

To write the charge which Sir John swore, 

Of which the Countess he ecuses, 
Her daughter and her son-in-lore. 

My Mews quite blushes as she sings of 
The fatle cheirge which now I quote : 

He says Miss took his two best rings oflF, 
And pawned 'em for a tenpun note. 

" Is this the child of honest parince, 
To make away with folk's best things ? 

Is this, pray, like the wives of Barrins, 
To go and prig a gentleman's rings ? " 

Thus thought Sir John, by anger wrought on, 
And to rewenge his injured cause, 



THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 



349 



He brought them hup to Mr. Broughton, 
Last Yenstlay veek as over waws. 

If guiltless, how she have been slandenl ! 

If guilty, wengeance will not fail ; 
Meanwhile, the lady is renianderd. 

And gev three hundred pouns in bail. 




350 



JACOB HOMXIUAI'S HOSS. 




JACOB HOlNINimrS HOSS. 



A NEW PjVLLICE COURT CHAUNT. 



One sees In Viteall'^ard, 
Vere i^leaceraen do resort, 

A Avenerable hinstitute, 

'Tis palled the Pallis Court. 

A gent as got his i on it, 
I think will make some sport 



The natur of this Court 
My hindignation riles ; 

A few fat legal spiders 

Here set & spin their viles ; 



JACOB iiomxiu.m's hoss. 351 

To rob the town theyr privlege is, 
In a hayrea of twelve miles. 

The Judge of this year Court 

Is a mellitary beak, 
He knows no more of Lor 

Than praps he does of Greek, 
And prowides hisself a deputy 

Because he cannot speak. 

Four counsel in this Court — 

Misnamed of Justice — sits ; 
These lawyers owes their places to 

Their money, not their wits ; 
And there's six attomies under thesi. 

As here their living gits. 

These lawyers, six and four. 

Was a livin at their ease, 
A sendin of their writs abowt. 

And droring in the fees. 
When their erose a cirkimstance 

As is like to make a breeze. 

It now is some monce since, 
A gent both good and trew 



352 JACOB homxium's hoss. 

Possest a ansum oss vith vich 
He didn know what to do : 

Peraps he did not like the oss, 
Peraps he was a scru. 

This gentleman his oss 
At Tattersall's did lodge ; 

There came a -vvnilgar oss-dealer. 
This gentleman's name did fodge, 

And took the oss from Tattersall's : 
"Wasn that a artful dodge ? 

One day this gentleman's groom 

This willain did spy out, 
A mounted on this oss, 

A ridin him about ; 
" Get out of that there oss, you rogue," 

Speaks up the groom so stout. 

The thief was cruel whex'd 
To find hisself so pinn'd ; 

The oss began to whinny. 

The honest groom he grinn'd ; 

And the raskle thief got off the oss 
And cut avay like \'ind. 



JACOB homnium's hoss. 353 

And phajisy with what joy 

The master did regard 
His dearly bluvd lost oss again 

Trot in the stable yard ! 

Who was this master good 

Of whomb I makes these rhymes ? 

His name is Jacob Homnium, Exquire ; 
And if /'d committed crimes, 

Good Lord ! I wouldn't ave that m^Ti n 
Attack me in the Tunes ! 

Now, shortly after the groomb 

His master's oss did take up, 
There came a livery-man 

This gentleman to wake up; 
And he handed in a little bill, 

Which hanger'd Mr. Jacob. 

For two pound seventeen 

This livery-man eplied, 
For the keep of Mr. Jacob's oss, 

Which the thief had took to ride. 
" Do you see anythink green in me r " 

Mr. Jacob Homnium cried. 



854 JACOB homnium's hoss. 

" Because a raskle chews 

My OSS away to robb, 
And goes tick at your Mews 

For seven-and-fifty bobb, 
Shall I be called to pay ? — It is 

A iniquitious Jobb." 

Thus ^Ir. Jacob cut 

The conwasation short ; 
The livery-man went ome, 

Detummingd to ave sport, 
And summingsd Jacob Homnium, Exquire, 

Into the PaUis Court. 

Pore Jacob went to Court, 

A Counsel for to fix, 
And choose a barrister out of the four, 

An attorney of the six ; 
And there he sor these men of Lor, 

And watched 'em at their tricks. 

The dreadful day of trile 

In the Pallis Court did come ; 

The lawyers said their say. 
The Judge looked wery glum. 



JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. 355 

And then the British Jury cast 
Pore Jacob Hom-iu-um. 

O, a Tveary day was that 

For Jacob to go through ; 
The debt was two seventeen, 

("Which he no mor owed than you). 
And then there was thie pleiintives costs, 

Eleven pound six and two. 

And then there was his own, 

"^Tiich the lawyers they did fix 
At the wery moderit figgar 

Of ten pound one and six. 
Now Evins bless the Pallis Court, 

And all its bold ver-dicks ! 

I cannot settingly tell 

If Jacob swaw and oust. 
At aving for to pay this sumb, 

But I should think he must, 
And av drawn a cheque for £24 4s. SJ 

With most igstreme disgust, 

Pallis Court, you move 
My pitty most profound. 



356 JACOB homnium's hoss. 

A most emusing sport 

You thought it, I'll be bound, 

To saddle hup a three-pound debt, 
With two-and-twenty pound. 

Good sport it is to you. 

To grind the honest pore ; 
To pay their just or unjust debts 

With eight hundred per cent, for Lor ; 
Make haste and git your costes in, 

They will not last much mor ! 

Come down from that tribewn, 
Thou Shameless and Unjust ; 

Thou Swindle, picking pockets in 
The name of Truth, august ; 

Come down, thou hoary Blasphemy, 
For die thou shalt and must. 

And go it, Jacob Homnium, 

And ply your iron pen. 
And rise up Sir John Jervis, 

And shut me up that den ; 
That sty for fattening lawyers in, 

On the bones of honest men. 

Pleaceman X. 



THE SPECULATORS. 35 " 



THE SPECULATORS. 



The night was stormy and dark, The town was shut 
up in sleep : Only those were abroad who were out on a 
lark, Or those who'd no beds to keep. 

I pass'd through the lonely street, The wind did sing 
and blow ; I could hear the policeman's feet Clapping 
to and fro. 

There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet ; 
He stood with his 'tato-can In the lonely Haymarket. 

Two gents of dismal mien, And dank and greasy rags, 
Came out of a shop for gin, Swaggering over the flags : 

Swaggering over the stones. These shabby bucks did 
walk ; And I went and followed those seedy ones. And 
listened to their talk. 



358 THE SPECULATORS. 

Was I sober or awake ? Could I believe my ears ? 
Those dismal beggars spake Of nothing but railroad 
shares. 

I wondered more and more : Says one — " Good friend 
of mine, How many shares have you wrote for ? In the 
Diddlesex Junction line ? " 

" I wrote for twenty," says Jim, " But they wouldn't 
give me one ; " His comrade straight rebuked him For 
the folly he had done : 

" O Jim, you are unawares Of the ways of this bad 
town ; / always write for five hundred shares, And 
then they put me down." 

"And yet you got no shares," Says Jim, "for all 
your boast;" "I would have -wrote," says Jack, "but 
where Was the penny to pay the post? " 

" I lost, for I couldn't pay That first instalment up ; 
But here's taters smoking hot — I say Let's stop my 
boy and sup." 

And at this simple feast The while they did regale, 
I drew each ragged capitalist Down on my left thumo- 
nail. 



THE ?rKCULATORS. 

,"'''.M'i; 



359 




Their talk did me perplex. All night I tumbled and 
tost. And thought of railroad specs., And how money 
was won and lost. 



"Bless railroads eveiywhere," I said, "and the world's 
advance ; Bless every 'railroad share In Italy, Ireland, 
France ; For never a beggar need now desiiair, And 
eveiy rogue has a chance." 



369 THE FOUKDLIXG OF SHOREDITCH. 



THE LAMENTABLE B.\LLAD OF THE FOUXDLDfG 
OF SHOREDITCH. 



Come, all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail, 

It is all about a doctor was travelling by the rail. 

By the Heastern Counties Railway (vich the shares I 

don't desire), 
From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not 

transpire. 

A travelling from Bury this Doctor was employed 

With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was 

Captain I-oyd ; 
And on reaching Marks Tey Station, that is next beyond 

Colchest- 
er, a lady entered into them most elegantly dressed. 



THE FOUXDLIXG OF SHOEEDITCH. 361 

She entered into the Carriage all with a tottering step, 
And a pooty little Bayby upon her bussum slep ; 
The gentlemen received her with kindness and simllaty, 
Pitying this lady for her illness and debillaty. 

She had a fust class ticket, this lovely lady said. 
Because it was so lonesome she took a secknd instead. 
Better to travel by secknd class than sit alone in the fust, 
And the pooty little Baby upon her breast she nust. 

A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail. 
To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail ; 
Saysee you look unwell, Ma'am, I'll elp you if I can. 
And you may tell your case to me, for I'm a meddicle man. 

" Thank you. Sir," the lady said, " I only look so pale. 
Because I ain't accustom'd to travelling on the Rale ; 
I shall be better presnly, when I've ad some rest : " 
And that pooty little Baby she squeeged it to her breast. 

So in conwersation the journey they beguiled, 

Capting Loyd and the medical man, and the lady and the 

child. 
Till the warious stations along the line was passed. 
For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at 

last. 



362 THE FOUNDLING OF SHOEEDITCH. 

When at Shoreditch tumminus at lenth stopped the train, 
This kind meddicle gentleman proposed his aid again. 
" Thank yon, Sir," the lady said, " for your kyindness 

dear ; 
My carridge and my osses is probbibly come here. 

" Will you old this baby, please, vilst I step and see ? " 
The Doctor was a famly man : " That I will," says he. 
Then the little child she kist, kist it very gently, 
Vich was sucking his little fist, sleeping innocently. 

With a sigh from her art, as though she would have bust it. 
Then she gave the Doctor the child — wery kind he nust it : 
Hup then the lady jumped hofi" the bench she sat from, 
Tumbled down the carridge steps and ran along the plat- 
form. 

Vile hall the other passengers vent upon their vays, 
The Capting and the Doctor sat there in a maze ; 
Some vent in a Homminibus, some vent in a Cabby, 
The Capting and the Doctor vaited vith the babby. 

There they sat looking queer, for an hour or more, 
But their feller passinger neather on 'em sore : 
Never, never back again did that lady come 
To that pooty sleeping Hinfnt a suckin of his Thum ! 



THE FOUNDLING OF SHOKEDITCH. 363 

What could this pore Doctor do, bein treated thus, 

When the darling Baby woke, cryin for its nuss ? 

Off he drove to a female friend, vich she was both kind 

and mild, 
And igsplained to her the circumstance of this year little 

child. 

That kind lady took the child instantly in her lap, 
And made it very comforable by giving it some pap ; 
And when she took its close off, what d' you thiuK she 

found ? 
A couple of ten pun notes sewn up, in its little gownd ! 

Also, in its little close, was a note which did conwey, 
That this little baby's parents lived in a handsome way : 
And for its Headucation they reglarly would pay, 
And sirtingly like gentlefolks would claim the child one 

day. 
If the Christian people who'd charge of it would say, 
Per adwertisement in the Times, where the baby lay. 

Pity of this bayby many people took, 

It had such pooty ways and such a pooty look ; 

And there came a lady forrard (I wish that I could see 

Any kind lady as would do as much for me ; 



364 



THE FOUNDLING OF SHOKEDITCH. 



And I wish with all my art, some night in my night 

gownd, 
I could find a note stitched for ten or twenty pound) — 
There came a lady forrard, that most honorable did say, 
She'd adopt this little baby, which her parents cast away. 

While the Doctor pondered on this hofFer fair. 
Comes a letter from Devonshire, from a party there, 
Hordering the Doctor, at its Mar's desire, 
To send the little Infant back to Devonshire. 

Lost in apoplexity, this pore meddicle man, 
Like a sensable gentleman, to the Justice ran ; 
Which his name was Mr. Hammill, a honorable beak, 
That takes his seat in Worship Street four times a week. 

" O Justice! " says the Doctor, " instrugt me what to do, 
I've come up from the country, to throw myself on you ; 
My patients have no doctor to tend them in their ills, 
^There they are in Suffolk without their draffts and pills !) 

' I've come up from the country, to know how I'll dispose 
Of this pore little baby, and the twenty pun note, and the 
clothes. 



THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 



365 



And I want to go back to Suftblk, dear Justice, if you 

please, 
And my patients Avants their Doctor, and their Doctor 

wants his feez." 




366 THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 

Up spoke Mr. Hammill, sittin at his desk, 

" This year application does me mucli perplesk ; 

What I do adwise you, is to leave this babby 

In the Parish where it was left, by its mother shabby." 

The Doctor from his Worship sadly did depart — 
He might have left the baby, but he hadn't got the heart, 
To go for to leave that Hinnocent, has the laws allows, 
To the tender muasies of the Union House. 

Mother, who left this little one on a stranger's knee, 
Think how cruel you have been, and how good was he ! 
Think, if you've been guilty, innocent was she ; 
And do not take unkindly this little word of me : 
Heaven be merciful to us all, sinners as we be ! 



THE organ-boy's APPEAL. 367 



THE ORGAN-BOY'S APPEAL. 



" Westminster Police Court. — Policeman X brourrht a 
paper of dofrjrerel verses to the Magistrate, which had been thrust 
into his hands, X said, by an Italian boj', who ran away immedi- 
ately afterwards. 

" The Magistrate, after perusing the lines, looked hard at X, and 
said he did not think they were written by an Italian. 

"X, blushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week 
and which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, 
was also not of Italian origin." 

O SiGNOR Broderip, you are a wickid ole man. 
You wexis us little horgin-boys Avhenever you can : 
How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek 
To pussicute us horgin-boys, you senguinary Beek ? 

Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your 

crushers, 
Harrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of all the 

Rusliers, 
Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to know. 
Likewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go. 



368 THE oegax-boy's appeal. 

you vickid Ilerocl without any i^ity ! 
London vithont liorgin-boys vood be a dismal city. 
wSweet Saint Cicily who lirst taught hoi'gin pipes to blow. 
Soften the heart of this Magisti-it that haggery wates us so. 

Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kind, 
Bi-ings ITS over to London here our horgins for to grind; 
Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea-pigs also 
A popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin of Jim Crow. 

And as us young horgin-boys is gi-ateful m our turn. 
We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn. 
Because that they vood vop us so as wery well we know 
Unless Ave brought our burnings back to them as love 
us so. 

O Mr. Broderip I very much I'm surprise, 

Yen you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes ? 

If a Beak had a heart then you'd comprehend 

Us pore little horgin-boys was the jjoor man's friend. 

Don't you see the children in the droring-rooms 
Clapiiing of their little ands when they year our toons? 
On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies 

crow ? 
And down to us dear horgin-boys lots of apence throw ? 



THE ORGAX-BOY'S APPEAL. 369 

Don't you see the oiisemaids ClX)oty PoUies and Maries), 
Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smiling fi-om tlie Iiaries ? 
Then they come out with a slice o' cole puddin or a bit o' 

bacon or so 
And give it us young horgin-boys for lunch afore we go. 

Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport 

When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the 

Court ! 
To these little paupers who can never pay 
Surely all good horgin-boys, for God's love, will play. 

Has for those proud gentlemen, like a serting B— k 
(Vich I won't be pussonal and therefore vill not speak), 
That tlings their parler-vintlers hup ven ve begin to play 
And cusses us and swears at us in such a violent way. 

Instead of their abewsing and calling hout Police 

Let em send out John to us with sixpence or a shillin 

apiece. 
Then like good young horgin-bo3's away from there we'll 

go. 
Blessing sweet Saint Cicily that taught our pipes to blow. 



370 THE END OF THE PLAY. 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 



The play is done ; the curtain drops, 

Slow falling to the prompter's bell : 
A moment yet the actor stops, 

And looks around, to say farewell. 
It is an irksome word and task ; 

And, when he's laughed and said his say. 
He shows, as he removes the mask, 

A face that's any thing but gay. 

One word, ere yet the evening ends, 
Let's close it with a parting rhyme. 

And pledge a hand to all young friends,* 
As fits the merry Christmas time. 

* These Terees were printed at the end of a Christmas Book (1848-9), " l)r 
Birch and his young Frienda." 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 371 

On life's wide scene you, too, have parts, 
That Fate ere long shall bid you play ; 

Good night ! with honest gentle hearts 
A kindly greeting go alway ! 

Good night ! — I'd say, the griefs, the joys, 

Just hinted in this mimic page, 
The triumphs and defeats of boys, 

Are but repeated in our age. 
I'd say, your woes were not less keen. 

Your hopes more vain than those of men ; 
Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 

At forty-five played o'er again. 

I'd say, we suffer and we strive, 

Not less nor more as men than boys ; 
With grizzled beards at forty-five, 

As erst at twelve in corduroys. 
And if, in time of sacred youth. 

We learned at home to love and pray. 
Pray Heaven that early Love and Truth 

May never wholly pass away. 

And in the world, as in the school, 

I'd say, how fate may change and shift ; 



THE EXD OF THE PLAY. 

The prize be sometimes with the fool, 
The race not always to the s\^^ft. 

The strong may yield, the good may fall, 
The great man be a vulgar clown, 

The knave be lifted over all, 
The kind cast pitilessly down. 

Who knows the inscrutable design .'' 

Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, 

Be weeping at her darling's grave ? * 
We bow to Heaven that mlled it so, 

That darkly rules the fate of all, 
That sends the respite or the blow. 

That's free to give, or to recall. 

This crowns his feast -ndth wine and wit : 

Who brought him to that mirth and state ? 
His betters, see, below him sit. 

Or hunger hopeless at the gate. 
Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel 

To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? 
Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel. 

Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus. 

* C. B. Ob. 29th NoTember, 1848, set. 42. 



IHE END OF THE PLA.Y. 373 

So eacli shall mourn, in life's advance, 

Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed ; 
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, 

And longing passion unfulfilled. 
Amen I whatever fate be sent, 

Pray God the heart may kindly glow, 
Although the head with cares be bent, 

And whitened with the winter snow. 

Come wealth or want, come good or ill, 

Let young and old accept their part. 
And bow before the Awful "\A'ill, 

And bear it with an honest heart. 
Who misses, or who Avins the prize r 

Go, lose or conquer as you can : 
But if you fail, or if you ris?, 

Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 

A gentleman, or old or young ! 

(Bear kindly with my humble lays ;) 
The sacred chorus first was sung 

Upon the first of Christmas days : 
The shepherds heard it overhead — 

The joyful angels raised it then : 
Glory to Heaven on high, it said. 

And p?ace on earth to gentle men. 



374 THE END OF THE PLAT. 

My song, save this, is little worth ; 

I lay the weary pen aside, 
And wish you health, and love, and mirth. 

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. 
As fits the holy Christmas birth, 

Be this, good friends, our carol still — 
Be peace on earth, be peace on earth. 

To men of gentle wUl. 



I.C74 89 



















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